


Stars Are Out Tonight

by 1lostone



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Eventual Happy Ending, Fandom Trumps Hate, Fluff, For reasons, Has a Red Dead Redemption Vibe, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Space Husbands, Vulcan cuddles are surprisingly satisfying, Weird Shit, by which I mean our guys are very confused, flangst-the other white meat, kinda., questionable plot choices, spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-09-28 18:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17187941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1lostone/pseuds/1lostone
Summary: Jim Kirk was used to weird shit happening since he first stowed away on the Enterprise, so many years ago. But this? This takes the cake.Or, the one where Jim, Bones, and Spock wake up in the middle of the 1840s West.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roolime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roolime/gifts).



> [ You can read more about how this fic came about here. ](http://1lostone.tumblr.com/post/181465917668/my-extremely-late-fth-contribution)
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> Roolime- I cannot thank you enough for your kindness and **patience with my bullshit**. You are a star and I honestly <3 <3 <3\. Sadly, this has been a helluva year for the both of us. What I thought would be posted this summer has been put off and put off while I ran around putting out RL fires. 
> 
> You said you were a fan of hurt/comfort so... I kind of ran with it. :D heh. I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> (I am posting it as a WIP, although it's mostly done. I just have to finish up a tiny bit and have it betad- but with the holidays I didn't want to run the risk of it not being posted by the end of the year! Chapters will be posted whenever I can escape from my family and get them up!) Thanks very much to **FoxyK** for the ninja beta and to my writing group (Jlm, Maroon, Tweedo and Lotr) for kicking my ass into gear.

“Jim. Jimmy? ‘C’mon, kid.”

Jim slowly became aware of Bones’ voice, sounding like it was coming at him down a long tunnel. It was hardly the first time. He’d heard Bones’s voice angry, worried, angry-and-worried, and every flavor and nuance of exasperated that existed in human vocal history. 

“Captain?” 

Spock sounding that nervous was new though. True, in the year or so since Edison’s attack on the _ Yorktown _ , Spock had relaxed a little around the crew of the  _ Enterprise _ , but the amount of worry in that one word was enough to shock Jim out of the weird half-dreamlike state he’d been in.   

Jim blinked in the blackness. With awareness came the realization that. . . well, his head really fucking  _ hurt. _ Still painful, but not throbbing as much as his head was his thigh. 

“Re--” He coughed, through a very dry, painful throat. Swallowing hurt quite a bit. “Report.” 

He felt Bones poking and prodding at him, but didn’t hear any of the instruments he tended to associate with Bones and him needing medical treatment. 

“Location, unknown. Status. . . sub optimal. We are in what appears to be a sub-terrain rock formation. Perhaps a cave, or a small grotto. There is no light, as you have no doubt already ascertained. The doctor has a broken arm. You have sustained some sort of head wound as well as being wounded in the thigh. I am unharmed at this time. You were bleeding profusely from a small wound in your head, but the good doctor assures me that the bleeding has stopped.”

Spock might have said the words with his usual emotionless inflection, but Jim knew his Vulcan second almost as well as he knew Bones, and the almost palpable anger that seemed to suggest that Spock would personally hold Bones responsible until Jim was well again was almost funny. 

“Mm. Feels like it. Spock, why don’t you see about the light. I’m probably not going to croak in the next five minutes or so.” 

“Since I’m not sure what the hell made you bleed in the first place, Jimmy, don’t you get it in your fool head to move around too much. Spock, I  _ told _ you that light would be immensely more helpful than your passive aggressive threats to my person.”

Jim knew he was a bit out of it, but he clearly heard Spock’s mutter of ‘There was nothing ‘passive’ about it, Doctor’ made him outright grin, which made him wince, which made him make a small pain sound. 

Jim felt Bones’ gentle hands on either side of his head, holding him in place. Bones’ fingers of his right hand dusted along his jaw bones, his neck, shoulders, chest, and further down his body, checking once again for broken bones. Bones’ left hand stayed where it was, lightly pressing on Jim’s forehead. That definitely didn’t feel good. 

Jim could hear Spock rummaging around in the darkness, and the creak of something opening. What was dark to him and Bones was probably like a twilight to Spock’s vision. Jim wasn’t sure. He’d have to ask. 

Jim heard a sound he couldn’t place. It sounded oddly like something small being struck against something else, but when Spock turned around, he was illuminated by light. It was bright enough in the darkness that Jim winced and shut his eyes again. He was feeling sleepy enough that he knew he better not actually  _ go  _ to sleep, and that scared him a little. 

Bones hissed in an indrawn breath. “Jesus, Jim.” 

“ _ Khrikha- _ pekh _. _ ” 

Spock didn’t often swear. In fact, Spock had been more emotional in the twenty or so minutes that Jim had been awake, than probably the entire previous year up to and including the end of his and Nytoa’s relationship and the birth of her, Scotty, and Jayla’s child. 

“Spock, you find me  _ something _ to use, now you hear? Leave the light!” 

“What--?” 

“No, Jimmy. You just relax. Just found out why your still so fuckin’ weak. Hold still. This ain’t gonna feel like a summer’s picnic.” 

Jim had just a moment for the startled thought of ‘picnic?!’ before Bones did something  _ immensely _ unpleasant to his thigh. Jim couldn’t help it: he coughed out a sound between a gasp and a scream. All of the sudden, the floaty feeling dissipated, and his head and his thigh were on  _ fire _ and it fucking  _ hurt. _

He must have lost time, because the next thing he knew, Spock had taken over holding his forehead and shoulder, only with enough pressure that Jim knew he wouldn’t be moving any time soon. 

“---alcoholic count’ll be enough to disinfect the wound, but that slug has to come out. It ain’t gonna feel so great, so you help me hold his leg before he kicks me again and breaks my other arm.” 

The weight from his shoulder moved high on his leg, almost near his groin. Spock pushed down, and Jim made another strangled sound, although thankfully didn’t pass out again. 

He almost wished he had when Bones poured something over his leg. The strong scent of alcohol hit his nose and Jim’s muscles tensed, almost bowing his body in reaction. The leg Bones was working on might as well have been tied to a table for all it moved- Spock was just as stubborn as Bones when it came to Jim’s safety.

Jim sucked in air to scream again, but to his shock, Spock’s face brushed against his so closely that Jim’s lips brushed lightly against the stubble on Spock’s jaw. 

“Attend, Jim. You must remain as silent as possible. Our location is not secure, and the beings that hurt your in the first place are most assuredly still looking for us. Doctor McCoy is attempting to heal you. You must be as silent as possible and let him work.” Spock’s fingers flexed on his forehead, brushing lightly against the tip of one ear, sliding gently through Jim’s hair before coming back to hold down his head. 

Jim scrunched shut his eyes, and tried to ignore the astounding pain at his leg. The burning from the alcohol on the open wound was like a shot to the gut. Jim could feel Bones doing something  _ inside _ him and it hurt so much that it was all he could do to keep from screaming again. He could taste the salty heaviness from where he’d already bitten his lip, and used that small pain to focus, trying to ignore the large pain on his thigh. 

“Almost. . . almost. . . there!” 

Jim couldn’t help the little whimper. His eyes flew open to see Bones holding what looked like an overgrown pair of tweezers. Clutched in between was a blood-covered hunk of metal. Jim felt a little nauseated, staring at it. 

Spock’s grip didn’t let up, and when Bones dropped the instrument and grabbed for the whiskey bottle, Jim had just enough time to brace himself, before his best friend poured it all over his leg again. 

_ This  _ time _ ,  _ Jim passed out completely. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Jim was moving.

He’d ridden horses back on the farm enough to know when he was on one. Some muscle memory never left, and the gentle, swaying back-forth of a horse’s smooth trot was one of them. Jim realized that someone was behind him, holding him so that their arms were helping to keep him upright in the saddle. He felt dizzy and sick, but the arms as well as the torso behind him were strong and warm enough that Jim felt himself trying to leech some of that immense body heat into his own shivering, miserable body. The air around him was bitterly cold, and Jim couldn’t help an almost constant shiver.

Spock must have felt him come to. His arms tightened and Jim heard his voice, whispering in his ear. “You are safe, Jim, but the men who did this to you are behind us, pursuing rapidly.”

That was alarming enough that Jim’s eyes popped open, which was about all he could manage to convey his shocked surprise. Instead of the dark, Jim could clearly see that they were in some sort of heavily wooded area. Moonlight illuminated snow-covered trees stretched out in all directions, but a frigid, sleety rain blew through their branches, keeping them drenched and cold. “McCoy is to your left, and we are looking for shelter.”

“Spock, I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but if we don’t all get warm soon we’re gonna have more trouble than ever. We need shelter, and we can’t do that when we’re trying to evade those bastards behind us. I can’t do it, so I’m gonna need you to take care of them.” Jim turned his head to see an exhausted-looking Bones bouncing uncomfortably along side of them on what looked like a mule. Bones pulled the reins with one arm, and the mule, not happy to be stopping in this cold weather, bucked once before allowing Bones to control him. “Come on now. You can give Jim to me, and then go on. Sooner we get them off our asses, the sooner we can get all of us warm. From the look of it, Jim’s head is bleeding. Or, was bleeding. It might have frozen by now for all I know.” Bones was too exhausted for tact. “But we gotta get a move on, man.”

Spock’s arms tightened once, almost imperceptibly, before he clucked his tongue and lightly pulled the horse’s reins. Jim watched dully as Bones tied his mule’s reins so the dumb thing couldn’t run away, then he and Spock switched spots. Bones wasn’t as smooth when he climbed up onto the horse’s back, and he certainly wasn’t as warm, but they managed to make it work. Bones was shivering almost as badly as Jim was, but they huddled together quietly, listening for Spock. Jim started talking in his head, counting the minutes that Spock was gone, partially because it was something to do, and partly because it was familiar.

They should have known better. They could have listened for three hours straight, and the loudest they would have dreamed of hearing was on that eighth day. Their only clue that Spock had reached their targets was the startled neigh of a horse and the sharp rapport of what sounded like (and here, one part of Jim’s brain worried that he was going rather noisily insane) an old fashioned gunshot echoing sharply in the darkness. Jim seemed to be processing things weirdly. The moment between hearing the gunshot (was it a gunshot? He’d only heard them from holovids, but it sure as shit sounded similar.) and Spock materializing out of nowhere in front of them seemed to take only a second.

“It is done. Let us continue.”

In short order, Bones was back on his mule, and Spock had mounted the horse behind him, setting again with his arms around Jim and the reins in one hand. Jim shifted, bending his head so that he could see the horse’s head below him. The trees obscured most of the light. Jim was dimly aware of certain things: the low murmur of Bones and Spock’s voices, the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves, and the sound of the heavy, icy rain pattering against the blanket in which he was wrapped. Awareness came in long stretches, with a heavy, numb state of dissociation in between.

“Think ‘m fucked, Sp’ck, “ Jim tried to whisper. He wasn’t sure if his mouth was even making the right sounds, but Spock reacted as through Jim had jabbed him with a phaser- urging the tired horse on through the woods with a sharp whistle. “Do not worry, Captain. We will not let you be hurt further.”

Jim blinked again, a little miffed, from the small part of his brain that _could_ still be miffed. Why was it now ‘Captain’ instead of ‘Jim’?

“Doctor McCoy! There is a shelter approximately three kilometers north west from our current location.”

“Fantastic. Let’s hope more of those guys aren’t there. I’m getting really sick of running around with my dick wavin’ in the air.”

Jim scrunched his brow as a really bizarre picture came to mind, but was too tired to really ask. Increasing the speed of their travels had an unfortunate side effect: things that had before been kind of dimly painful were now agonizing enough that, had Jim the breath to scream, he would have. He bit his cold lips instead, mindful of the last thing Spock told him.

The horse and mule ran across a snowy plain, towards a shelter outlined dimly against what looked like a small outcropping of land. Spock pulled his horse right next to Bones’ mule, and handed him the reins.

“Do not fall, Jim. You must stay where you are.” Spock’s hands were warm on Jim’s hips before the Vulcan swung himself off the horse and turned towards the structure.

“‘Kay.” Jim wasn’t even shivering anymore. He nodded to make sure Spock knew he was trying. It took a few tries for his hands to work, but he managed to get them in place on the saddle horn.

“How you doin’, Jimmy?”

Jim swallowed. “Been better. ‘Bout you? And Spock?” Jim felt like there was something else he should have been asking, but the thought was just far enough out of his reach that he was too fucking exhausted to chase it down.

“Arm is still broke. Stubborn hobgoblin has been a godsend. This cold ain’t all that good for him, but to look at him he’s ignoring it to make sure that we’re okay.”

“Think’m gonna fall…. asleep, Bonsey.”

“NO. No, Jim, now come on, kid.” Bones stumbled when he dismounted from his mule, and he fell hard against Jim’s leg. Pain woke like some sleeping dragon, and Jim couldn’t keep the grunt behind his teeth. Pain was like a cold shock; the lethargy he felt seemed to disappear as the adrenaline spiked through his system. Before he could do anything else, Spock came through the doors, and reached out for the reins.

“This is more than adequate for the beasts. The house appears to have been burnt at one point in time, but the cellar appears structurally sound, and more than adequate. One moment, and I will make sure the animals needs are met. It is most fortuitous that there is so much light from the moon tonight.”

Spock led the horse and the mule into the barn. It wasn’t very large, and smelled rather distressingly of rotten wood, but there were two stalls near the back that Spock quickly moved towards, pulling hay and straw into the proper places. Bones took buckets of water from an apparatus outside of the barn, scooping some of the snow into the troughs, then filling them to the top with what looked like cold, clear water.

Jim was abruptly incredibly thirsty. Spock was suddenly just _there_ to lift him off the horse’s back, and pretty much pushed him into sitting in a chair that appeared practically out of nowhere. Jim was grateful. He had an inkling that sitting was going to be much more preferable to standing. Plus, it would both be embarrassing as well as painful to fall on his ass; not to mention, Bones would kill him and Spock would kill whatever was left over. Jim scrunched up his nose in thought. It made his face hurt, and he stopped, with the sneaking suspicion that there was something wrong with his last thoughts.

The mule, no fool, pushed right into one of the stalls, and started eating some of the food Spock had put out. Spock took off the saddle and bags, rubbed the mule down quickly, then latched the stall door behind him. Bones had already nudged the exhausted horse into the stall. Bones, too, began rubbing down the horse, checking to make sure it was okay. There were some saddlebags attached to the side and he had to have Spock help him move the heavy saddle onto the shelf. In the low light of the moon’s reflection on the snow, Jim could see that his two friends were moving slowly, as though exhausted.

Jim just rather numbly watched everything, happy to be out of the sleet. In some part of his brain, it made him feel good that the animals were okay, but he itched to help Spock and Bones here in the barn. Now that he was inside, he could see that it was indeed a barn, with a covered door to the left that likely lead to the house. There were only four stalls, and one was crammed full of hay bales, kept under some kind of tarp. Whoever lived here before must not have had a huge need for horses as there were only four stalls.

“Here, Jimmy seems to be stable for now, but I’d really like to get settled. Let’s check out the house for what we need, then get to that cellar you were talkin’ about, Spock.”

“Indeed.” Spock stared at Jim for several moments, but something must have decided him one way or another, because he closed the barn doors before turning on his heel and following Bones in the house. “Beware what appeared to be the first bedroom.” He called. “The sight might--”

“Ahhhh! Jesus _Christ_!”

Jim heard a crash, and what sounded like several curses muttered under Bones’ breath. He knew that he should care, but the pain had come back when he jumped at the sound of Bones’ yell, jarring his leg. He curled in on himself, gritting his teeth.

In a flash, Spock was there, helping him up. “We will rest in the cellar. There are a few windows that are easily boarded up, and a small area that we can adequately use to ventilate a fire. The good Doctor is currently gathering some supplies. I have moved a large mattress down to the area for your comfort.”

Jim was woozy, but Spock was a solid presence next to him, taking most of his weight and leading him through the dark area to another dark area, then down some steps.

The smell was instantly recognizable. Living in Iowa, Jim had been used to ‘cellar weather’. Even with the environmental controls offered by the Federation, most around Riverside preferred “real” weather—Iowans b’God did things the Right way- and planned accordingly.

There were only eight or nine steps, then a small dip. Spock had left a lantern glowing, set on a small table next to the wall. For a split second, Jim stared, confused at seeing two lanterns sitting directly besides one another before realizing he was staring at a reflection in a mirror Spock had placed next to the table. The mirror near the lantern helped to reflect lantern light into the room. The mattress was below and a little to the right. Either Spock or Bones had spread a tarp on top of the mattress, and on top of that was a blanket. The cellar was much warmer than the outside, but Jim had just enough mental wherewithal to realize that meant that Bones was going to check on his wounds again before he could sleep.

Spock helped him out of his clothes, then lay him down onto the blanket, quickly covering him with another blanket that smelled strongly of dust and mothballs. Jim must have lost time again, because the next thing he knew Bones cool fingers were against his cheek.

“Hey, Jimmy. You still with us.”

There was a lot more light now. Bones had two lanterns within arms reach, and with the lantern on the table and the small fire Spock had lit in the corner, it almost hurt his eyes. Bones followed Jim’s gaze and frowned. Jim looked back at his friend’s exhausted face, noticing for the first time the bruises and bluish bags under his normally clear hazel eyes.

“The fire got the original fireplace. We had to make due. He rigged a flue and has been melting snow like he was gonna get a commendation for the amount of water he produced, but since I’m about to use it to bathe your filthy ass I suppose it’s all to the best.”

“I don’t understand where we are.”

“Some planet. Not sure, really. We can worry about that when you’re not bleeding all over three damn counties. I’m afraid I had to just patch you up and pray, but whoever lived here before had some decent supplies. After your bath I can clean you up properly, and check on your wounds.”

“‘Kay.”

Bones gave him a fairly through sponge bath, liberally using a heavy block of soap that stank vaguely of oranges and herbs. He used more alcohol on the stitches, and examined them carefully to see what he had popped, resewing the area that needed stitches and covering the reddened, raw skin with a soft, white muslin. Spock took the dirty water and dumped it without comment, bringing clean, hot water over and over again.

“Now for your face.”

Jim, who had until then been lulled into a state of almost relaxation while Bones worked, tensed with alarm. “What’s wrong with my face?”

“Oh calm down. It’s not that bad. Looks like your thick head got in the way of some sort of knife, and the knife won. You’ve got a gash the size of my thumb over your ear, and another one that’s a little deeper on your forehead, almost into your eyebrow. You’ll have a helluva bar story ‘til I get my hands on a goddamn regenerator.”

Bones was a bit more careful when he cleaned off the dried blood and dirt on Jim’s face, and used the alcohol liberally enough that Jim kind of half-heartedly wished for a swallow or two for mostly medicinal purposes.

“Alright. Hold him. This is gonna sting and I don’t want his fool ass to knock over one of the lanterns.”

Jim had just enough time to feel alarm before Spock leaned over him again, immobilizing his legs and arms. At the same time, Bones put more of the alcohol directly in the wound on his face.

Jim felt like he was on fire. He recognized this feeling, and knew they’d done the same thing with his thigh, but Jesus fucking jumped-up _Christ_ his face was on fire!

Bones worked quickly, stitching up what felt like half his forehead. When he was done, Jim was exhausted from trying to fight Spock’s hold on him. He lay there passively while Bones cleaned off the sweat he’d accumulated, and moved when they moved him until the tarp was removed from under him and some pants had been found so that his dick wasn’t flopping over the place (The fact that he was too tired even to be embarrassed by Spock seeing all his junk, let alone put on some kind of sleazy act told Jim all he needed to know about how hurt he was.)

Bones gave him another once-over, and Spock brought him some water. Jim was a little more than half asleep when Bones finished cleaning himself up, and blew out the lanterns, before climbing onto the mattress to Jim’s right. This, Jim’s body recognized as comfortable and safe. He and Bones had shared a bed together more than once since their Academy days, with nothing more erotic between them than a filthy joke. Now though, Bones was careful of his leg, and Jim minded Bones’ arm, and Jim felt well, if not safe at least comfortable for the first time in hours. He sleepily listened to Spock futzing around the room, checking the few windows and the main door before giving himself a bath of sorts. Spock banked the fire, and there was an almost audible pause, before Bones grouchily barked, “Oh just get in the damn bed, Spock!”

Spock did, sliding stiffly onto the mattress. He managed to be so far away that Jim couldn’t even feel his incredible body heat.

What was he doing- clinging to the edge like some kind of mountain goat? Jim frowned and awkwardly reached behind him until his fingers brushed up against Spock’s forearm. He slid his fingers down to Spock’s, and tangled their fingers together.

Spock made a barely stifled sound- like he’d taken a blow of some kind to the chest.

Jim waited a moment to see if Spock would protest. When he didn’t, Jim tightened his hand then tugged, then tugged again before Spock obliged Jim’s more-than-halfway asleep instruction and turned onto his side, facing Jim’s back. Spock awkwardly stretched his arm out so that it rested on Jim’s hip.

Satisfied (and warm!), Jim slept.

Had he managed to stay awake, he would have seen Spock very very tentatively, and so lightly it was the barest hinto of a whisper of touch, brush the first two fingers of his hand over the back of Jim’s fingers before allowing himself a minuscule quirk of his lips that on a human would be a goofy grin. Spock shifted into a slightly more comfortable position, then shifted again before finally falling asleep.

Bones, having witnessed the entire song and dance in the mirror next to his side of the bed, rolled his eyes almost hard enough to sprain them, but didn’t have the heart to wake either of two idiots up to yell at them for being so stupid.


	3. Chapter 3

“Computer, lights. 65 percen. . . aw, _shit_.” Jim squinted at the pale sunlight and sat up, shivering a little. Someone had left a pile of clothing on the table near the lantern, and a torn off piece of paper rested near a chipped cup of what, upon investigation, proved to be water. Jim drank it thankfully, grimacing at the stale taste. He picked up the note and glanced down at the writing. The writer wrote quite neatly, with letters almost perfectly formed and written closely together across the page. It struck him then: Jim didn’t know whose handwriting this was. Both Bones and Spock had only ever communicated with him electronically through the padd. He’d heard about old fashioned practices where people would leave literal notes to one another, stuck to surfaces before the planetary environmental crisis before the Eugenics Wars had destroyed most of the trees; what was left was deemed necessary for resources other than paper production.

* * *

 

> _  
> I won’t bother telling you to sit still. I will bother telling you that_ _if you go off half cocked like some damn infant and bust the stitches_ _on either that thigh wound or your precious face, you’ll regret it._ _We’ll be back as soon as possible. Facilities are outside, so bundle up,_ _buttercup._

* * *

 

Well, that solved that mystery. Spock had changed quite a bit from the rigid First of Pike’s, but hengrauggi would be ice skating in hell before Spock relaxed enough to call him 'buttercup.'

Jim shivered again, reaching over to put on the clothes he found there. There was a long pair of heavy socks, a linen shirt, a pair of denim pants, some boots, a heavier shirt, and what looked like a leather vest. Everything was clean, but clearly well-mended. Jim winced a little as the denims went over his bandaged thigh, but managed to get everything on without injuring himself. Standing up was tricky, and he felt a lot like he imagined he looked- someone suffering from blood loss in extreme temperatures, but Jim managed a limping walk to the cellar steps. Bones’ offhanded mention of “the Facilities” made Jim realize that he his bladder was about to embarrass him and mess up these handy dandy new clothes if he didn’t find a place to go- and soon.

Making his way up the cellar steps and into the shadowy kitchen was a bit like stepping into another time. Jim only noticed that this looked like no kitchen that he recognized before beelining to the door and through it.

The sleet from last night (the night before? Jim wasn’t sure) had settled into a few inches of snow, covering everything. It was lightly falling in big, thick, wet flakes that stuck to his face and hair. Like a kid, Jim tilted up his face and stuck out his tongue to feel them melt in his mouth. He felt a sharp gust of wind and his eyes popped open to see that the sky was getting quite dark. Jim squinted up at the sky. For as long as he could remember, he’d been able to get a general idea of where he was by the stars. Here, he could see nothing celestial- no stars, no moons, not even how many suns there were, blocked as it. . . or they- Jim didn’t know- was by clouds.

There were trees in front of him, but behind him Jim could see that the small house was located on what looked like a large, snow-covered plain. One set of hoofprints led off across the plain, while the other circled around the barn and went off towards the woods. Jim frowned a little, but another frigid gust of wind reminded him why he was outside in the first place.

He turned, looking a little skeptically at the small shack near the kitchen. It was pretty obvious what its intent was; the roughly waist-high bench with the strategically placed hole left little to the imagination. Jim managed to hobble over and peer a little doubtfully into the hole. His bladder didn’t care, and with a shrug, Jim did what he needed to do. The shack wasn’t very airtight, and every gust of wind made him fervently glad that he wasn’t going to be out here very long. 

He made it back to the house and inside without much more than a burning desire to wash his hands and looked around the kitchen. There was a pump near a large basin, and after investigating, Jim was able to at least accomplish something.

Jim took off some of the heavier outerwear and draped it over a chair. There had been a stove, but it appeared to be knocked over. Now that he was looking, Jim could see signs of horrible violence around the small space. Dried blood soaked the wood of the floor, with boot tracks leading back to the room behind. The table had huge chunks removed from its surface. It was not obvious as to the cause of the holes in the wooden planks of the wall, but the object under the table and slightly under the black metal of the stove made Jim’s eyebrows shoot to the top of his forehead. He bent down and picked it up, inspecting it carefully.

Jim had always been a fan of the early 20th century, and any kid educated about the time before the Wars knew what a gun was. Hell. Frank had continued his dad’s tradition of collecting antique weapons. Jim had many memories of tedious chores of dusting around the line of early “cowboy” guns, as Frank had called them. Suddenly the memory of Bones pulling what had to have been a _bullet_ out of his thigh hit him, and Jim gaped down at himself rather stupidly.

What the fuck was he doing somewhere where people used _guns?_ for a moment Jim tried very hard to actually remember how they came to be here. On this planet. In this. . . _place._ He could remember waking up hurt and had heard Spock shouting something in Vulcan, but the last thing he remembered doing on the ship was incident reports at his desk. But how did he—

\--- A sharp, stunning pain in his head made Jim gasp, holding one hand to the side of his face as though trying to stop his brain from leaking out of his ear. He felt as though something had been driven directly into his temple through his ear, and he couldn’t help but cry out in shock and acute agony.

Jim ignored the blood on the floor, ignored the mystery of whoever had been killed here and just curled in on himself, shaking. His stomach, empty except for the water from before, sloshed unpleasantly, bile filling the back of his throat.

It could have been hours, or minutes, or anywhere in between. Jim didn’t know. All he knew is that when he made it back to his feet, the light had shifted enough that time had definitely passed. It was much darker now. He had the feeling that he’d forgotten something. . . something. . . no. It was gone. All he had now was a headache and a strange, hollowed-out feeling, sort of like a hangover.

Weird. Maybe he’d been drinking?

Staggering to his feet, Jim made it to the kitchen doorway. Instead of going down to the cellar, Jim walked past it, following the little hallway to the right. He opened the door and stared. The room had been destroyed. Fire had burnt away the corner, leaving the wall to the kitchen untouched.This was the main living area, with the remnants of a fireplace that had fallen over awhile ago. The room had had lots of bright fabrics, with two now weather-ruined and slightly charred chairs near where the fireplace had been. Snow dusted the area, giving everything a surreal look. Jim felt immeasurably sad, and shut the door with a soft click, throat tight. Whoever had built this cabin had done so with extreme care. Jim hadn’t even realized that the outside was effectively inside until he’d swung open the door.

The final door in the little hallway lead to a bedroom. Here is where Spock or Bones had looted the mattress, because the iron bed frame stood nakedly in the middle of the room. A wooden closet- Jim was pretty sure they had been called an armoire- was open to his left, and there were two trunks at the foot of the bed. Maybe he could find---

“Captain?”

Jim jumped, whirling so quickly that he stumbled against the door frame. He felt like his heart was about to beat out of his chest. “Jesus, Spock!”

“My apologies. Startling you was not my intention. I found myself. . . concerned when you were not where I expected you to be.”

Jim swallowed hard, staring at the Vulcan with wide, blinking eyes. “Bones. His note said to go ahead and get up. He wasn’t much for letting me stay abed, even in Sickbay.” Jim tried a smile, wincing as the stitches on his face pulled uncomfortably.

“But you are well?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Now that Jim’s heart had stopped thundering in his chest, he was able to see that Spock looked filthy. His First wasn’t often disheveled, but he definitely looked the worse for the wear. “What happened to you? And where is Bones?”

 _And where_ are _we?_ Jim didn’t voice the thought, but he wanted to.

“I felt it vital that I make sure there was nothing indicative of our location. Plus, I wished to search the previous area to ascertain we had left nothing of import behind.”

“Oh. That’s smar--wait. You went back by yourself?! Dammit, Spock!”

Spock raised one eyebrow. “You were in no position to argue. Captain. As well, the good Doctor thought it best he go make certain we had enough to meet our nutritional needs- there is evidence of a large storm moving in.”

Jim sighed. “Well, here. Let’s see what else we might use here in the bedroom. Whoever had lived here before was really neat. I see you got the mattress, but you never know what else we can use.”

Jim pushed down the feelings of frustration he felt at Spock going all Lone Vulcan on the grassy knoll. Spock was right. Jim had been hurt, and from what he remembered had been woozy enough from blood loss that he hadn’t been all that much of a help. Spock and Bones were just seeing to their safety was all. It wasn’t their fault that it chafed that he’d been left behind.

“Strange that this planet is so far behind warp technology- there isn’t a sign of any sort of electricity, let alone computer-run technology.” Jim opened a trunk and found what looked like a hand-stitched quilt. Little patches had been put together in such a way that patterns had almost overlapped. In the center was carefully stitched:

Clementine and Carl

Forever

1842

 Jim frowned. He had a terrible suspicion that Clementine and Carl hadn’t gotten their forever. He was quiet, staring down at the quilt. “The kitchen?”

“Yes. Some sort of attack. Doctor McCoy and I.... saw to the remains.”

Jim nodded and folded the quilt over his arm. Under the bed, he found two more pairs of socks, and what looked like some women’s clothes. The dresses were very plain and clearly hand-stitched. Whoever had warn them had been quite petite. Jim found a pillow and what looked like some toiletries, and Spock helped him carry everything downstairs. Jim crossed to the table by the bed to put down all the items he’d found, while Spock lit the lantern near the fireplace, dispelling the gloom.

Jim limped over to the fire, then stirred the embers of the banked fire, wrinkling his nose at the smell of woodsmoke in the cellar. He could see where Spock had rigged the flue, and immediately set to enlarging and padding it, so that the smoke wouldn’t blow back inside. While Jim could honestly say that he’d never quite worked on a project quite like this- he _had_  flourished in the ‘Fleet survival basics classes. Basic chemistry, really. Oxygen in, Carbon dioxide out.

The cellar doors to the outside had a wooden beam across them. Granted, it would take a healthy sneeze to knock it down, but for anyone trying to get in from the outside, it was fairly secure. The door to the kitchen, however, did not have any sort of lock. There was a leather strap that one could pull through a small hole near where the hand would push open the door. The windows were covered, leaving the only light in the room from the fire and the one lantern, despite the sunlight outside.

Spock began heating water, effortlessly moving around Jim as he worked with the wall. Either Spock or Bones had already dug out a hearth, and there was a small pile of rocks near it, ready to line the hearth. The cellar floor was made from wood, but it had been removed from the area used as a fireplace. “There was some pipe from a wood stove. We might want to see about using that instead of this open fire. It will be heavy, but we could probably use it down here if you wanted.”

“Indeed.” The non committal answer made Jim realize that Spock had also very neatly dodged his question from before: why was Spock so filthy and dishevelled? Now that he was feeling better, the fact Bones and Spock seemed to be acting secretive was going to get old quickly. Still, it wasn’t worth saying anything at the moment.

Jim saw that Spock had used a metal grating to suspend the heavy kettle over the flames of the fire.

“I am heating water for bathing. If you are thirsty, the water here,” Spock gestured to three pitchers on a small table near the fireplace. “It has already been boiled.”

Jim opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, he heard the stomping of feet outside of the cellar door.

“It’s me!” Bones stomped again, and pushed open the door. He had a fine dusting of snow from head to toe, and was carrying a small satchel. “Wait ‘til y’all see this.”

He didn’t even bother hanging up his coat. He pulled out a sheaf of papers, shaking them slightly in his clenched hand. “I was up in the town, looking for something your delicate Vulcan innards could handle while we’re stuck here in. . . well. Wherever we are. Good thing I had put on that hat, ‘cuz I saw these on the general store wall and just about had a heart attack.”

He spread them out on the table, and Jim felt his mouth opening a little in absolute shock.

His face.

 

**WANTED**

“Prettyboy” Jim Kirk

Bank Robbing, Armed Robbery, and Chicken Swindling

Known Leader of the Enterprise Gang

 

Bones’ face, eyebrows at their craziest.

**WANTED**

Leonard “Sawbones” McCoy

Wanted for

Snake-oil selling, Puerile and Questionable Medical Frippery

Member of the Enterprise Gang

 

Spock’s face.

**WANTED**

Spock “Smiley McGee” ---

Wanted for

Bank Robbing, Armed Robbery, and Drunk and Disorderly conduct in the Presence of a Cow

Member of the Enterprise Gang

 

Jim’s eyes almost couldn’t take in all of it. Weirdly enough, the thing that his shocked gaze focused on the most was not the fact that there was a wanted poster with his face on it, but the fact that there was some kind of water stain obscuring Spock’s surname. Jim had had a thing about Spock’s name. He’d overheard it once, pronounced in Vulcan, and Nyota only smiled mysteriously when he’d asked for clarification, but he couldn’t manage to pronounce it to save his life.

“Smiley. . . McGee?” Spock’s voice was at his dryest.

“I think I’d be more concerned about the cow, Spock.” Bones itched his eyebrow, then winced, glancing at his arm. “However, now I need your help with something. What with one thing and another, I didn’t set my damn arm right. We’re gonna have to re break and splint it.”

Jim had to tear himself away from staring at the three wanted posters. Bones gave him a second, although Jim could plainly see that he wanted to snap his fingers to focus Jim’s attention.

“How?”

“Well, that’s one of the things I picked up. By the way, Spock, the weather isn’t looking so hot. We’re gonna need wood, and while I don’t want to use the coal, we might have to. This place ain’t exactly a sauna, and I’m sure you’re not up for losing fingers, toes, or the cute little tips of your ears to frostbite if there’s a blizzard.”

Spock actually sighed. “Indeed, doctor. You will need my assistance to rebreak the bone, and Jim can help you splint it properly. I can then secure the wood needed for a more human-comfortable temperature control.”

“Right. For the splint, we can use wet cloth, and secure it with some branches. Jimmy, how’s your leg?”

Jim blinked. “What? Oh. Oh, it’s fine. I know you won’t let me just laze about anyway. I can go get the branches if you want. I might as well do something useful. I was telling Spock earlier about the stove they used in the kitchen. It might be a better choice for heat. It wasn’t too big, but for the three of us and this little amount of space, I think it would be safer.”

Jim watched as Spock and Bones shared an unreadable look. He wanted to be offended, but couldn’t quite manage it. It wasn’t the first time that the two of them had entire silent conversations about him, or about something that he had said. The strange friendship that had started on Altamid had continued, and even strengthened.

Jim had tried not to be jealous that his two best friends had stopped being so antagonistic, but he hadn’t always been as successful as he’d like.

“Riiight. You see what you can do. Sooner this bastard is set and splinted properly, the sooner--” Bones looked down at his slightly swollen hand and frowned, trailing off.

“Alright, Bones.”

Jim made his way outside again, pleased to have something purposeful to do- even if it was mostly to keep him busy. He grabbed the borrowed coat, and limped his way up the cellar stairs to the kitchen. mind on the wanted posters. It was so bizarre, so out of anything that he had ever imagined that way down deep in Jim's psyche he was certain that this was some kind of elaborate joke. But, if this were a joke, he wouldn't feel so goddamn terrible, right? 

The temperature had dropped significantly in just the time he’d been down in the cellar with Spock. Jim huddled in his coat, shivering. It had gotten quite a bit darker, but Jim could clearly see the stove. It appeared fine. Unless there was a large hole in it or something that Jim couldn’t see from this angle; it just looked a bit worse for wear. Nodding to himself, Jim made his way outside. Near the facilities- Jim was pretty sure that was called an outhouse- was a woodpile under part of the overhang between the barn and the house. That was good to know. Even if the woodstove didn’t work, they could still use that in their impromptu fireplace.

Jim went a little further out, walking slowly and placing his feet carefully on the frozen ground. The last thing he needed was to fall on his ass out here. Bones would never let him live it down.

Large, fat flakes of snow were falling a little heavier by the time he made it to the woods. Some of the deadfall was tricky to see- the snow cover hid what looked to be a good branch with alarming frequency. Jim would reach down to grab it, only to realize it was attached to a log that was much larger than what he could handle by himself.

It was peaceful here, in the woods, with only his thoughts for company. His head had a strangely hollowed-out feeling, but Jim remembered the agonizing headache from before and didn’t want to think too closely about its cause lest it return. He had found two sticks by the time he realized that the temperature had dropped again. One was a little crooked, so Jim had been bending to search for a promising green sapling bent a little from the weight of the snow, when a gust of wind hit him so sharply that he staggered, windmilling his arms and landing on his ass.

Pain shot up his leg with a fire so agonizing that he lost his breath. Jim blinked, seeing white and

_He could see for just a moment- a place. A place he should remember._

_Should recognize. A light. A face, blurry with a aurora of light backlit around a dark shape._

_Recognition. Confusion._

_A voice? S_ _omething, garbled._

_Soothing._

_A name._

_“_ jim _?”_

_His name? He tried to blink everything into cohesion, but._

**_-PAIN-_ **

 

Jim screamed, writhing in the snow, the pain in his leg forgotten as every cell in his body rebelled. His body shook, with muscles cramping so tightly that it seemed like it was never going to end. He dimly realized he tasted bile, but he couldn’t stop the terrible palsy that had overtaken him. His voice cracked, then stopped all together as he shook and shook, until finally and with something very like relief, Jim passed out completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... aw, shit. I think I posted a chapter out of order. If you get a notification for chapter 6- please don't read. Major spoilers. 
> 
> Sorry for my dumbness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art done by the wonderful **Lucifie56**. 
> 
> [ We've collaborated before](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5569288), and she graciously agreed to do a bit of art as a special surprise for **Roolime** for [ reasons](http://1lostone.tumblr.com/post/181465917668/my-extremely-late-fth-contribution). (Especially important since I can't draw even a tiny bit- my stick figures look drunk.) 
> 
> Please give her some love [ here](https://lucife56.tumblr.com/post/181519795887/for-1lostone-and-her-fic) or look at her other work [here on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucife56/pseuds/lucife56).

  


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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to Please give her some love [ tell Lucifie what you think! ](https://lucife56.tumblr.com/post/181519795887/for-1lostone-and-her-fic)  
> https://lucife56.tumblr.com/post/181519795887/for-1lostone-and-her-fic


	5. Chapter 5

Jim woke up slowly.

He lay there, staring up at the snow-covered tree. There was enough snow on top of him that he didn’t even feel the cold, although he could recognize that the wind was blowing. He blinked a few times, trying to shake off the feeling of exhaustion that cloaked him like a blanket.

Something told him that going to sleep would be a really bad idea. Still, it took a lot of time before Jim could make his limbs move, and even longer before he could sit up, snow tumbling off of him like that one time he’d opened the hatch and had been buried in tribbles. They’d been finding those damn things for _weeks_ afterwards.

Jim blinked again, and the fuzzy image of the hatch and the--- what were those things called again?-- dissipated. Jim ignored the dull twinge in his thigh and used the tree trunk to pull himself up to his feet. The first step was shaky, and the second was shakier, but with the help of the trunk, Jim found that he could move.

He really was very tired.

Jim’s foot caught on something, and it caused him to look down. He was a little confused to see the two sticks lying next to where he had fallen. Jim pushed the snow off his face, a little alarmed that his hand-eye coordination seemed to be off. 

Oh.

 _Bones_ . His arm. The splint. . . -- _right_.

Sudden awareness made Jim stand stock-still, staring at the trees with wide eyes. He looked carefully at the ground, suddenly terrified that he would have set off in the wrong direction. It wasn’t full dark, fortunately. He could still see some of his footprints, but the wind and blowing snow was quickly filling them.

Jim started walking, lurching from tree to tree as he followed the footprints, adrenaline cutting some of the lethargy still making him move slowly. Eventually, through, Jim couldn’t see his footprints anymore. He could barely see the trees in the semi-darkness through the whirling snow. Jim stumbled, managing to catch himself before he fell.

He couldn’t be that far, and Spock had better-than Human hearing. Surely..

Jim’s yell was more of a gasping croak. For some reason, his voice wouldn’t work. He could hear the words in his head, but the sound was a pathetic little rasp of sound.

His adrenaline spiked; panic loomed. If he couldn’t yell, then they wouldn’t hear him, and if he got lost in the snow he would never know how near or far he was from safety. Jim’s memory of the snow covered plain seemed to stretch on for miles and miles.

Well he couldn’t just stand here. The wind was bad, but Jim could use the sticks in his hand to help keep him going forward, maybe tap them against trees or something. Shit.

At least the groggy feeling had gone. Jim squinted in the direction he’d been facing, hoping to see something, and took a step. He could do this. Just go to that tree _there_ , and then to that tree _there_. . . His heart was thudding so loudly that Jim could feel his heartbeat in his ears. It wasn’t until he almost fell again that Jim realized that he had missed his step due to the fact that there were no more trees. He couldn’t remember how long it had taken him to get to the sapling, and his timing was off with the stumbling lurch he’d been managing to get back to the house. How long had he been out here? Was it too long? Had he gone too far? It was now fully dark. Jim could only hear the whirling snow, but his skin was already so cold that he couldn’t feel it anymore. Without his hand or the stick brushing against a trunk, Jim could only hope that he was close to the little homestead.

In the end, it was dumb luck that saved him. The stick in his hand brushed against something. . . something that gave a little; the slight tension travelling up his arm just enough that it jarred him to a stop. He reached out with his other hand and it brushed against a rope.

A rope!

“Spock! Bones!”

Jim’s croak could barely be heard over the screaming wind, but he tried, and kept trying, knowing that eventually Spock would hear him. When Jim turned a little he could see something a little further off, and in the darkness, it was like a beacon of light. Jim forced his trembling, frozen hands to grasp the rope, dropping the sticks in the snow in his haste. The rope was tight enough that Jim could use it to guide himself towards the light. As he grew closer, he could see that it was a lantern that one of them had left for him. His fingers brushed against the wooden slats of a building, and Jim stopped, afraid to let go of the rope. He squinted at the lantern.

It seemed impossibly bright in the snow.

“Spock! Bones!”

Jim could have cried when he heard what sounded like a herd of Gorn running, stumbling against the walls. Bones never did run gracefully.

“Jim! _Jim!”_ Warm hands on his arms, his face. “Goddamnit, kid.”

“Hi, Bonesy,” Jim hiccuped a laugh, knees weak with realization that he was safe.

“C’mon. Let go of the rope now, Jimmy. I’ve got ya.”

“Can’t.” Jim shook his head. Or he thought he shook his head. He couldn’t be sure.

He literally couldn’t. Not without help. His fingers had wrapped so tightly around the rope that they could have been frozen there for all Jim knew. Bones had to force his fingers to loosen, then pulled him into a hug. It only lasted a moment before Bones essentially frogmarched him into the house.

“Spock?”

“Went out to look for your fool ass. I swear to everlasting hopscotching _Christ_ , Jim. I’m gonna put a goddamn bell around your neck. Or a tracker. I’m gettin’ too old for this shit.”

Jim started to reply, but when Bones flung open the cellar door and the heat of the room hit him, he lost his breath as what felt like ten thousand needles hit his skin all at once. He must have made some sort of sound, because Bones’ arm tightened around his waist.

“Yeah, this isn’t gonna be much fun. Look at what you’ve done to yourself.” Bones helped Jim down the stairs slightly awkwardly with the newly splinted arm, then nodded with his chin towards the mirror next to the bed.   

Jim had thought that he was having trouble seeing because it had gotten dark. And that had probably been part of it, but now he could see that his eyelashes had been dusted in little ice crystals, as the snow had frozen. The ice on his frozen clothes cracked when Bones helped him undress, and Jim moaned when he felt Bones hands briskly rubbing feeling back into his cold skin, muttering under his breath about frostbite.

Jim stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, finally starting to shiver. Bones first used cool water to wake up the blood vessels under his skin, and even that felt warm. The bandage on his thigh had started to bleed, but the blood had frozen to the gauze under the denims he’d been wearing. Bones, now that he’d turned Jim into a shivering miserable wreck, finally tossed him the quilt that had been on the bed.

“You did a helluva--- oh. Hi Spock. Our favorite moron found his way home.”

A footstep on the stair and a brief swirl of cold air announced Spock’s arrival.  Bones had taken a towel and was vigorously drying Jim’s hair, so Jim couldn’t even see the expression on Spock’s face, but could guess from the dry “Indeed.”

Jim winced. Now that he was relatively safe, the panic had receded, leaving embarrassment in its wake. At least he had managed to save himself. If they had had to save him on top of everything else, then Bones would probably have never let him live it down.

Spock made his way down to the cellar proper, shutting the door behind him. He even plugged the few cracks with what looked like a few burlap sacks. He didn’t speak to either Jim or to Bones, but instead cast them both an unreadable look before making his way to the cast iron cooking stove.

Jim shivered again, and he watched out of the corner of his eye as Spock moved the one chair closer to the stove. Bones made a shooing gesture and jerked his head towards Spock. Jim shook his head once in reply. Bones narrowed his eyes and shoved Jim hard on one shoulder, which caused him to take a  staggering step towards the impassive Spock.

Jim glared at Bones for being so obvious, and Bones just smiled beatifically.

“Thanks, Spock.” Jim sat down in the chair, huddling in his blanket.

“It is of no matter.” Spock poked something at the flame in the stove, and just as Jim realized that he probably didn’t need to be stoking the merrily burning fire, Spock put down the poker and turned to face Jim. “I am. . . gratified that you are well, Jim. We have much to discuss.” He wrapped two towels around his hands and reached into the coals, pulling out a covered container.

Jim blinked, stymied at seeing Spock looking so domestic. He put the container on the table, stood tall, turning and hiking an eyebrow at Bones. With a completely un-Spock like flourish, he removed the lid and Jim was hit by the smell of potatoes, apples, and onions.

“Holy _shit_.” His stomach, as though just now realizing that he hadn’t eaten in a day or more, started growling like a pissed off Cataian.

Bones snorted as he pulled another chair and a rather rickety looking stool towards the small table.

Spock pointedly left the rickety stool for Bones as he served everyone some food, and for awhile there were no sounds other than two hungry men, (and one hungry Vulcan) eating. Bones had clear water, and while it wasn’t particularly fancy, the simple meal was incredibly filling. It was hot, and tasty, and Jim couldn’t help beaming in contentment at his two friends as they ate.

Bones’ eyebrows creased, and he pressed the first two fingers of each hand against his temples, rubbing in little circles. “Okay. Well, aside from the unasked for drama of Jim almost managing to freeze his fool self to death, Spock and I started to discuss our situation.” Bones winced, and took a moment to take a sip of water. “Damn. This headache is killing me. I’d give my left nut for a regenerator-” He broke off and pushed his temple again, as though he were trying to push the headache away.  

“Bones?” Jim stopped eating, peering at his friend.

“Er, yeah. It’s fine.” he pushed his food away. “I’m just feeling a little puny.” It took him a second before he began to speak again. “So, we aren’t supposed to be-” he gasped, paling. “Here. In this . . . time. Place.” He waved his hand around haphazardly, indicating their surroundings with the cloth of his splint flapping like some strange sort of punctuation. “It’s.. like. . . It’s as though...” he gasped again with a pain filled moan, grabbing both sides of his head with almost claw-like hands.

“Doctor- perhaps you should. . .”  Spock’s direct gaze almost gave the impression that he was angry.

“No! We have to--” His fingers moved from his head to clutch the metal cup. He brought it to his mouth with a hand that shook, and took a sip. “It’s important that--.”

If Jim hadn’t been staring directly at Bones, he would have thought he was trapped in some sort of fever dream.

It just happened so quickly. It almost reminded Jim of a holo that had some sort of interplanetary interference- or like a transporter signal that stuttered before it came through all the way.

One moment, Jim was reaching out, half standing up from his char to reach towards Bones, and the next. . . Bones had disappeared.

  
The metal cup fell to the table with a loud _clang_.


	6. Chapter 6

Jim stood up so quickly that the chair tipped over, hitting the iron stove with a loud crash. He actually looked around the sparse cellar, as through Bones would jump out from under the bed, yelling “Surprise!”

“Spock?” Something was wrong with his voice.

Spock swung his gaze towards Jim’s, his brown eyes wide with uncharacteristic shock.

“ _Spock_ ?” Jim’s barely-there voice had more than a hint of panic. Jim thought of everything that happened since he’d woken up in this crazy situation. Shot? Wanted Posters? It was like some badly thought-out play. Each surreal event after surreal event-- hadn’t he thought a little while ago that this was some sort of dream? What if none of this was real? What if _he_ wasn’t real?  Jim gasped a breath, barely aware that he had stood up, the blanket falling to the floor as he stared in horror at where Bones had. . . had just _vanished._ “No. Not real. **No**. Not _real_.”

He heard someone with a voice that sounded like ground glass repeating ‘not real’ over and over, and only realized it was him when Spock actually grabbed his shoulders. His hands were hot on Jim’s naked shoulders, and he squeezed hard enough that the pain jarred him out his hysteria.

“Jim. You are real. I assure you I am real. Please regulate your breathing. You are not well, and your heartrate is precisely 24% above acceptable norms. There is--” Spock’s gaze flicked to the aluminum cup and back to Jim’s wide blue gaze. “--A perfectly logical explanation for the. . . admittedly extraordinary. . . events of the past three days. We must find it Jim, but we can not do that if we are. . . not. . . _calm_.”

Jim’s eyes filled with tears. He would be embarrassed, but this was Spock, and he just couldn’t care. The idea that this wasn’t real- or just some weird temporal anomaly, or hell, some sort of alternate universe  was absolutely _terrifying_. If this was just in his mind, then what if his mind was broken somehow? Of course the reverse was just as terrifying. What if Bones was really-- gone?  

Spock's hands were warm on his skin, and gripping tightly enough that Jim felt like he might not fly apart. Spock anchored him. He swallowed hard, and blinked a few times, starting to get himself back under control. He sighed a long, serrated breath and stared at Spock’s all-too human eyes from much more closely than he’d ever done before. He sucked in just enough air that the panic became more manageable. Jim leaned against Spock’s grip, just to feel it again.

“Calm.” Jim breathed again. “I can do that.” He started to move down to pick up the blanket, and Spock let go of him as though he’d been burned. Jim concentrated on his breathing, and shakily sat down again, somewhat unbelieving that so little time had passed since Bones. . .  “Calm,” Jim whispered, forcing himself to take a small bite of food. Spock, following his example, pulled up the rickety stool that he had given to Bones before. For several minutes, the only sounds in the room was of the fire crackling and of them eating. The previously delicious food tasted like sawdust in his mouth, but he forced himself to eat, feeling a little like if he were just normal enough, if he took just perfectly precise bites of the potato and onion, then Bones would somehow be okay.

They were quiet for several minutes.

“Doctor McCoy was attempting to reach some knowledge. I had seen him wince like that previously; he had complained of a ‘small headache’ after sterilizing your wound.”

Jim jumped at the sound of Spock’s voice, startling in the quiet. He swallowed the bite of food in his mouth, then spoke. “If Bones was actually complaining about being hurt, you can bet it was more painful than he let on.” Jim thought for a moment. “If his headaches are anything like mine, then I can--”

“You are experiencing headaches?” Spock almost sounded angry.

“Uh. yeah. That’s what caused. . .” Jim glanced down at his blanket and shrugged one shoulder. “I had felt it before, but as long as I don’t er. . . concentrate too hard on them, they sort of stay away.”

“You are speaking as though this pain were sentient.”

It was like the fog in his brain not only lifted, but was evaporated. Jim’s mouth fell open a little. “That’s what he was saying! He must have figured out what was happening to us! He said ‘we have to’ and ‘it’s importan- _-ahhh_!”

The all-too familiar spike of pain drilled through his head.

In one blink, almost before Jim even realized there _was_ pain, Spock had reached across the table, his hands fitting into the psi points on his face.

Jim was viscerally reminded of Spock’s elder counterpart, in that frozen cave on Delta Vega. He’d never really dwelled on what it had felt like to have someone else’s mind entwined with his own. Everything had been happening so quickly, and was so incredibly fucked up that Spock’s ‘emotional transference’ mindmeld hadn’t even been the weirdest thing that had happened to him that day.  This was much different. This was a Spock that he knew, that he admired, that he felt a deep friendship with. This was a Spock for which he felt--.

It was staggeringly intimate.

Jim knew that outside of this meld the pain was still there, but he could not feel it. It was though Spock provided a barrier, guarding him like some old-fashioned knight in shining armor. Jim felt protected. He felt like the trust that had grown between them, the respect, was almost a tangible barrier that Spock could manipulate to keep him safe.

Jim had tested null on all psi scales for most of his life, although after he ‘pulled a Lazarus’ in Bones’ words, they found that his DNA had changed enough that his mental physiology  had also altered. Maybe that was what made this different. Maybe it was just because it was _his_ Spock, or maybe it was because that Spock was bound and determined to keep him from pain.

Maybe it was because, like this, Jim couldn’t hide from himself how he felt.

In his mind, Spock lashed out at lightning with his bare hands, standing as a physical barrier between it and where Jim slouched, huddled in on himself. Instead of spiking to something unbearable, the white knife of the agony in his head dulled down to a uncomfortable nudge, then to a whisper of touch as Spock destroyed it.

The meld broke then, and Jim blinked up at Spock a little uncertainly. His mind was more clear than it had been in days. He felt the almost palpable docility drain away, like something unpleasant down a drain.

“What. . .?”

“You did not tell me that you were not unfamiliar with the mindmelds of  my species.”

“Weirdly enough, it never came up in conversation.” Jim moved away, feeling shaky. His mind felt scrubbed clean, and Jim couldn’t help the mounting embarrassment he felt- had Spock read everything in his brain? All Jim’s pettiness? All his bullshit? All the feelings he’d pushed down and ignored? “It was more of a wham bam sort of thing, honestly.”

Spock’s face looked all angles in the glow of the wood stove. He stood abruptly and turned, walking to the clean water they had already boiled and using the ladle to scoop some out. Jim used the time to huff a breath, trying to get himself under some sort of control.

“Uh, sorry. If you saw. . . anything you didn’t want to see. Uh. In my head.”

“The mindmeld does not work that way, unless the two have bonded.” Spock’s voice was tight, almost angry. He set down the water in front of Jim. “Please hydrate yourself. Then you should sleep.”

Jim winced, then drank the water. He stood up and made his way to the bed, dropping the blanket on the end. What felt like years ago, Bones had tossed his clothes in the corner, and Jim now spread them out on the steps, trying to make sure that the frozen, sodden material completely dried. He heard Spock clanging things, and a quick look confirmed that Spock was cleaning up their dinner. Jim watched as Spock sat down at the table and began writing something on the back of one of the posters, frowning a little. Jim was curious, but also afraid that he had done something wrong. . . committed some social gaffe and offended Spock’s Vulcan sensibilities.  He pulled back the sheets and slid into the bed, shivering a little without the blanket.

The cellar wasn’t exactly warm but it was a sauna compared to outside. Jim could tell that the temperature was still dropping by the way that the wind howled.

“I must see to the animals. Please remain in bed, and regulate your body temperature to the best of your ability. I will return.”

Before Jim could say anything, Spock stepped nimbly over Jim’s spread-out clothes, and slipped quickly out of the door, trying not to let in much of the cool air. Jim listened to his steps on the cellar ceiling, and imagined Spock using the covered lean-to to go and check on the animals.  It was a good thing that Spock was here. Jim had forgotten that they even had a horse, and Bones’ irate little mule.

Shit. _Bones_.

Jim tentatively allowed himself to remember details that, previously, would cause him pain as soon as he thought about it. First of all, if he and Spock were someplace, then Bones was definitely someplace else. Another universe? Another time? Well, that Jim hadn’t quite figured it out quite yet. He wasn’t dead- Jim flatly refused to believe in any universe that existed without some sort of Leonard “Bones” McCoy in it. It just wasn’t possible. And wherever that Bones was, then there was some sort of James T. Kirk as his sidekick.

So, either he and Spock needed to figure out exactly what Bones had done to get to that other place, or they needed to figure it out for themselves.  Now that Jim could string two thoughts together without turning into some sort of shivering mess, maybe they could begin to accomplish either of those tasks.

And Spock. That mindmeld. _Jesus._ Jim’s shiver had nothing to do with being cold. Jim had never allowed himself to really think about what it would be like to have Spock meld with him. He’d known that Spock was able to do so; Nyota had mentioned it once, and once Spock had had to use his abilities on a mission to save Chekov and Sulu, but ‘Spock + mindmeld’ and ‘Spock + mindmeld + Jim; was not anything that had ever flown on his radar before today.

But god, did he want it again.

His relationship with Spock wasn’t . . . well. It wasn’t quite what he sometimes in the darkest, tiniest part of his soul wished it could be. Jim knew he had done well with hiding his feelings. Hell. He barely admitted them to _himself_ , let alone acted on them. But that meld had ripped apart everything he’d managed to tramp down since he woke up with Spock and Bones hanging over his bedside, memories of Spock’s wet eyes and his declarations of friendship as clear in Jim’s head as though it had happened only hours ago.

The footstep on the stairs startled Jim out of his thoughts. Spock slipped through the door, and Jim immediately sat up with concern.

Spock looked miserable. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were stained with a dark green from the cold. His lips were pressed together in a tight line, and his coat looked stiff with blown ice.  Jim had vague memories of the barn, but he also knew that it had been partially destroyed, so Spock would have had to be out in the elements for part of his task.

“Spock. Get in bed with me. Before you freeze to death.”

Spock’s eyes almost seemed to widen, but Jim quickly realized that had to have been a trick of the stove’s light. Surely, Spock wouldn’t be that emotional. Jim’s thoughts about mindmelds and feelings had to have been fucking with him.

“Given that you must go outside to use the facilities, I believe that we should get you dressed in order to take care of your needs before we sleep.”

Jim wrinkled his nose. He hadn’t really thought of it before, but now that Spock has said it, Jim really had to go. He looked at his still-wet clothes, and frowned. “I wouldn’t normally suggest this, but I’m not going outside in just my boots and a blanket.”

“Oh, yes. Indeed. The wind… is not pleasant.”

Jim winced in sympathy, then got out of bed to take care of his business. There were enough broken spots in the house that he could find somewhere. He couldn’t quite explain the slightly nervous feeling he felt, like a low- grade buzz of electricity just under his skin. Almost anticipation. But for what, he didn’t know.

Jim came back down the cellar stairs shivering violently, making his way to the wash water to wash his hands. The blanket hadn’t been enough, and he was terribly afraid that his dick had frostbite. The cellar was still cold on the stairs, but the woodstove did put out an incredible amount of heat. For the first time, Jim noticed that Spock had carried what looked like the entire woodpile and restacked it on either side of the stove.

Spock was also lying in bed, blankets up to his chin.

Jim was too cold for inappropriate thoughts about he and Spock in the same bed. All he could think about was the incredible amount of body heat Spock put out, and how much he wanted it. Jim didn’t even feel awkward when he slid into the other side of the bed, as though he’d done it hundreds of thousands of times before.

“Jesus, how did people do this for so long?”

“I am certain “people” customarily wear clothing when venturing into subzero temperatures.” Spock shifted slightly closer, as though unsure of his welcome.

Jim spread the extra blanket on top of them before laying down and curling into Spock’s body. He was pretty sure that he was speaking into Spock’s armpit when he said, “Sorry in advance. Spock. Just tell me to move if I am making you uncomfortable. But, god you are so w--a--r--m.”

Spock was quiet for a moment, before Jim felt the Vulcan’s arms rest on his back. He began rubbing up and down, and Jim couldn’t help the little groan of contentment.

“Indeed, sharing our body heat is most logical. As is your need for closeness. It is a. . . rare effect of melding; when two minds are incredibly compatible then there is sometimes a desi-- that is to say, a _need_ for--” Spock stopped speaking. Jim could almost hear him frowning. “There is not a Vulcan word for ‘cuddling,’ Jim.”

Jim snorted a laugh. “Shame.”

Spock turned slightly so that their legs tangled together. “What is shameful?”

“Shame that Vulcans don’t cuddle. You’re rather good at it.”  

Spock was quiet for so long that Jim was afraid that he’d offended him. Again.

“Nyota introduced me to the custom. She did so quite logically. She informed me that she believed I was touch-starved and prescribed a regiment of ‘Vulcan-Human personal interaction’ on a daily basis, when our schedules would allow.  I find that she was often correct in matters of the heart.”

Jim nodded. It seemed to him that the fog that had clouded his mind had done more than just keep him from questioning too much of his new situation. It had kept him from remembering his crew. _That_ seemed shameful, somehow. So Jim scrunched up his nose, thinking hard, relishing that he could do so without the jolt of agonizing pain.  

Nyota. Scotty. Jaylah. Chekov. Sulu.  _Bones._

With just Spock’s mention of Nyota’s name, Jim could see her smiling softly at Scotty, arguing with Jim on the bridge, eyes fiery and ponytail almost like a cat’s tail, expressing her frustration as it whipped around. He could see Nyota brushing her fingers along Jaylah’s cheek, and remembered how he had tried to be so suave when he realized that Scotty, Nyota, and Jaylah had finally stopped tiptoeing around each other and had accepted their triad.

One day Jaylah had moved her few belongings into Ny and Scotty’s quarters, and that had been that. Nyota and Scotty had always been close. Jim got the feeling they’d bonded when he had gone to fix the warp core during the Khan debacle, but with one thing and another he had never asked. Certainly, there had not been any hanky panky between the two while Ny had been with Spock. If anything, it had taken Nyota the master planning of an elite strategist to convince Scotty that she was interested.   
  
Jaylah, on the other hand, had insulated herself into their relationship with a forthrightness that Jim had to admire. Poly relationships- not that Jim was an expert by any means- took a lot of negotiating and understanding from all parties. After a few drinks, Jaylah had apparently waited until Scotty and Nyota had disappeared into their quarters, invited herself in, and loudly insisted that all three of them ‘making eyes of a cow behind each other’s backs was stupid, and it would be much more fun to have sex now please.’   
  
It wasn’t Jim’s business (although Keenser gossiped like an old woman). All Jim generally cared about was that everyone was able to continue to excel at their jobs. The fact that it just worked with Scotty, Nyota, and Jaylah was just the cherry on top of a very attractive sundae. Nyota went about her duties, mostly unchanged, although Jim would often see her smiling to herself, eyes slightly unfocused in memory. Scotty seemed slightly baffled by his good fortune, but was happier more than Jim had ever seen, and Jaylah had said more than once that now she understood why humans made such a big deal about being in love.

Chekov had not settled down with anyone. He had taken the engineering exams, and passed with flying colors, but still remained as a member of the command crew, having flat-out refused to wear one of the engineering department’s red uniforms. He cited that there was a troubling number of red-clad ensigns that never seemed to return from away missions, despite Scotty, Nyota, and even Spock’s assertions that that was not statistically accurate.  Chekov was probably one of the most intelligent human beings on an entire ship of intelligent human beings, and literally nothing could convince him otherwise.

Since the events on the _Yorktown_ , the _Enterprise_ crew had unofficially made it their mission to make sure that Sulu got plenty of time off with his family. Jim usually found each member that had an occasion to work closely with Sulu volunteering to give hours of their own hard-earned time off to their favorite pilot -- so much so that Sulu had come to him and quietly begged that he stop allowing them to do so. Jim had told him that, collectively, the crew supported Sulu and Ben’s daughter Demora (much like they did with Bones’ daughter Johanna) to an unholy and almost fiercely protective extent. Jim had made it ship policy that no more than four hours could be donated of a crew’s shore leave, but most of those hours still managed to find their way to Sulu’s docked bank of shore leave hours, to be used however he wished.

And Bones? Was he really okay? Maybe it was just cockiness, but Jim had to believe...  _yes._ Of course Bones was okay. He was too cantankerous and ornery not to be. Look at how stubborn he'd been here. He'd had a broken arm- and had still managed to do everything he could do to keep Jim safe. Bones was like that though. Crunchy exterior, but a complete marshmallow on the inside. Take how he was with Carol, for instance. Or Joanna. With Carol, he tried to be brash and obnoxious, and she hadn't taken any of it at face value, having already seen that he was willing to do anything to save her, or Jim, or the rest of the crew. While Bones might joke about Jim being the actual second Coming, or call him Lazarus, or Jim's personal favorite, 'that megalomaniacial popscicle's glow in the dark mini-me', he'd worked so closely with Carol to make sure that Starfleet took responsibility for trying to hide away something as terrible as Khan. Even if Jim benefited. And with his daughter? There was no kid in all the universes that was loved more than Jonanna McCoy. Bones was his dearest and best friend. No. There was no way he was dead. Jim absolutely refused to give up on him-- 'cuz Bones would never give up on Jim.

“Do you think everyone is okay?” Jim blurted into the silence.

Spock, who had been absently stroking his hand over Jim’s arm and up over the back of his shoulder, paused.  “It is logical to presume that we are the only two changed by this event. I am sure our shipmates are unchanged.”

Jim blinked. It was comforting, but Spock was full of shit. There was absolutely nothing ‘logical’ about it. That was basically wishful thinking, and now Jim wasn’t loopy enough to just take it at face value, although he appreciated the sentiment.

Jim sighed. He wanted his crew to be safe. He wanted Bones to be safe, and Chekov, Sulu, Ny, Scotty and Jaylah. He wanted all of the people who had proven time and time again that their trust in him- trust that Jim wasn’t even sure he had in himself- was not misplaced.

“Hey Spock?”

“Mm?”

“How are we gonna get out of this?”  

It was some time before Spock replied. “I do not know. You are experiencing no more pain?”

Jim shook his head no. “Not really. Not like before. Whatever you did to fix it seems to have worked. If anything it’s like a very dull, intermittent annoyance. Hardly even pain. Thank you, by the way.”

“Whatever is happening, that pain seems to be the key. Yet, I am unwilling to cause you pain when I can help alleviate it.”

Jim nodded. “I didn’t remember until after the meld, but yeah. It was just like that. The first time I felt it, I was thinking of something on the _Enterprise_. The second. . . well that was just when I slipped and hurt my leg. But the third?” Jim snorted. “Pretty damn effective way of making sure people think the way you want them to.” Jim bit his lip, a hint from his earlier terror at all of this being somehow not _real_ causing his stomach to clench. If all that were true, then why wasn’t Spock having headaches? And. . . was this. . . what if. . .

Spock must have really been some sort of mind reader, because he tightened his grip on Jim’s body, as though proving to Jim that he was real.

“The temperature grows colder.” Spock’s fingers absently started working the tight muscles in the back of Jim’s head, and Jim had to force himself not to moan. Spock’s clever fingertips seemed to find every single tense muscle in his head and kneed it into submission.

“How long will the fire last?”  Jim matched Spock’s low tone, as though neither one of them wanted to disturb the quietness of the night. He strove for normalcy, although had he been feline he knew that he would be purring.

“Hours. Do not worry. I will make certain we stay comfortable.”

“Hm.” Jim wiggled a little closer. Spock accommodated him, so that his arm stretched out under the pillow. Under both blankets, and with Spock’s body heat, Jim found himself drifting to sleep, utterly content.


	7. Chapter 7

Spock woke him when he got back into bed.

Jim heard himself make a sleepy sound, and woke up a little when he felt Spock’s chilled body brush against his. He must have turned onto his side when Spock had gotten out of the bed, and now when he climbed back in, Spock ended up spooning him, fitting his cold body around Jim’s warm one.  Spock’s fingers slid against the lightly furred skin of Jim’s thigh, sliding under the material of the shorts he’d been wearing for modesty. Spock jerked his hand back as though he’d been burned, and Jim muttered under his breath, reaching back and pulling Spock’s cold fingers back to his leg.

Before he could, Spock tried to take his hand back, and Jim could feel him starting to slide out of the bed. Since that was the exact opposite of what Jim wanted Spock to do, he tightened his fingers on Spock’s, linking them together.

Spock’s gasp seemed loud in the quiet room. Jim’s eyes popped open, only to see his reflection in the mirror.

Jim realized several things at once, as his sleepy brain woke to wakefulness. The first was that when their positions had been reversed, and Spock had been facing the mirror, Spock had been able to see every nuance of Jim’s face in the glow of the woodstove’s fire. The stove didn’t put out a tremendous amount of light, but the cellar wasn’t all that big, so it was more than adequate with which to see. The second was that Spock was wearing fewer clothes than he’d been wearing before he got up. Jim wasn’t exactly sure where the logic of this came in, because even with the heat from the stove, it was cold as fuck in their cellar. He felt like he should probably ask some questions, but to be honest, he didn’t much care for the why- only the result.  The third thing was that Nytoa had, after working through four shifts and a weird pollen that made everyone want to burst into song, once told him in the absolute utmost secrecy sworn to him with the solemn oath of two fifths of bourbon and a pinkie swear that Vulcan hands were extraordinarily sensitive.

Jim had been sliding his fingers against Spock's for the better part of two minutes, while Spock stared at him in the mirror, eyes wide. Jim felt his heartrate skyrocket as he slowly, _slowly,_ so slowly that Spock could have easily broken away if he wanted to, brought Spock’s fingers to his mouth. He blew lightly on the tips and watched Spock’s eyes in the mirror.

Jim couldn’t quite believe that this was happening. If it was a dream, it was a damn good one.

Spock moved closer to Jim’s body, so that there was very little space between the two of them.  Jim brought Spock’s fingers to his mouth again, and gently kissed them with only his lips. His kisses were at war with what he was feeling, which was urgency and a sense of disbelief, and a tremendous, trembling sense of joy, held barely in check.

He’d thought of Spock like this for years. He’d done his best _not_ to think of it, and to ignore it when he did, but.

But here they were.

Spock pulled his hand back, but before Jim could have a heart attack, he switched arms so that Jim was had one under him, supporting his neck with his arm, the fingers of his other hand offered up to Jim’s kisses once again. This allowed Spock to pull Jim into his chest, and used the hand that Jim had been kissing to slide down the length of Jim’s body, from his rib cage, down over his hip, to his thigh, and back up. Spock’s long fingers felt amazing as he slid them over Jim’s skin. If he was touch starved, Jim wasn’t gonna complain.

Jim’s eyes fluttered shut. Feeling like he’d wake up any minute, Jim slowly mouthed at Spock’s fingers until he could hear Spock’s heavier breathing behind him.  Spock hooked his chin over Jim’s shoulder and let his hand rove with a little more daring. Jim could feel the lean muscle of Spock’s lanky frame behind him. Spock’s body was like a furnace, and Jim both wanted to turn around and kiss him properly, and never move from this position.

He bit at the tip of Spock’s finger, and Spock bucked his hips against Jim’s ass. Jim couldn’t help but meet Spock’s eyes in the mirror with a cocky grin as he kissed the spot softly. . . then bit him again, sucking the tip of his finger into his mouth.

Spock actually looked heavenward in what Jim had long deduced was a Vulcan eye-roll, having seen the expression on Spock’s face more times than he could realistically count, before he slid his hand down, cupping Jim’s cock with his hand.

Jim froze, moaning. It was Spock’s turn to look faintly cocky in the mirror, as Jim tried to remember basic English. Spock didn’t move his hand, but Jim felt himself harden completely, his skin pushing against the palm of Spock’s hand through the thin material as the blood rushing from his head caused him to swell and lengthen. Jim would have felt self-conscious at the way he looked, eyes widened and mouth open slightly, with Spock’s fingers hooked as they were into his mouth, but couldn’t bring himself to bring any kind of shame into this.  It felt too good.

He turned his head, tilting it back onto Spock’s shoulder, inviting Spock to kiss his neck.  He wiggled his ass, feeling Spock harden fully behind him. Spock moved his hips again, and Jim moved back with a gasp of air.

“Jim. Is this--?”

“Oh god, Spock. Please don’t stop.”

“Stop. . . this?” Spock moved his hand on Jim’s dick, and Jim’s toes curled. “Or. Stop. . . this.” Spock stopped the little rocking movement of his hips, teasing.

Usually, with partners, especially male ones, Jim didn’t find himself being this submissive. And he wasn’t sure if it was submission as much as he was just stunned and trying to take in every moment that Spock- _his_ _Spock_ \- took pleasure in touching him. Jim’s left hand moved to pull Spock to him, reaching back to grasp at Spock’s flank. His right moved down to tighten around the wrist of the hand that had curled around his length. Jim held his breath, trembling with the need to move back against Spock’s dick, or buck into the incredible heat of Spock’s hand.

Spock moved slowly, tugging and rocking his hips against Jim’s ass, chasing the friction. Jim let go of Spock to pull down his shorts, and Spock quickly followed suit so that they were naked against each other, huddled under the blankets. Incredibly, Jim could feel a light sheen of sweat on his skin, and when Spock’s length slid between the cheeks of his ass, Jim could feel that there was some kind of lubrication there.

Where the hell did Spock find lube?

Jim opened his mouth to ask, but Spock chose that second to kiss Jim’s neck, and Jim forgot everything except the feeling of Spock’s arms around him. Spock wasn’t shy about using his teeth. Jim shivered and shook, staring blindly at the mirror.

Spock didn’t seem to mind that Jim was so overwhelmed. In fact, while not particularly vocal, Spock did not bother to regulate his breathing, and the pants and occasional gasp somehow made everything more important; Jim knew that Spock was definitely enjoying himself despite the fact that Jim could do little more reciprocal than hang on for dear life.

When Jim came, it was hard enough that he saw little bright spots behind his closed eyes. He heard himself babbling something probably utterly ridiculous-sounding, and heard Spock’s answering encouragement, but the actual meaning of the words were beyond him.

Jim blinked, and finally shut his mouth, ignoring the fact that his chest was still heaving like a bellows.

“Oh my god, Spock.”

Jim stared at Spock’s reflection. Spock’s hair was in disarray, and Jim could see the large discoloration on his neck from Spock’s bite.

Reason returned; Spock still had not come. Jim took another deep breath, relishing the last few remnants of adrenaline and dopamine that swam in his system after coming so intensely.

Jim reached down to Spock’s hand, catching it before Spock could wipe Jim’s come off onto the blankets. Jim figured that he probably shouldn’t change a classic, and brought Spock’s hand to his mouth.

This time, when Jim sucked his come off of Spock’s fingers, Spock lost his fucking _mind_. Jim would have happily turned around and blown him, but watching himself, and watching Spock’s reaction was amazing. If Jim hadn’t just come hard enough to start speaking in tongues, he might have gotten hard again. As it was, his cock just have a halfhearted twitch.

Spock thrust two fingers into Jim’s mouth as though fucking him for real, shivering and gasping when Jim scraped his teeth against the sensitive digits. Spock moved so that his dick slid between the cheeks of Jim’s ass, lube almost squishy smooth, and Jim arched his lower back to give him something to rub against.  Every time Spock pulled back from a thrust, Jim could feel the head of Spock’s cock slide over the rim of his hole and the resultant sensation of overstimulation caused Jim’s breath to shake.

Jim could taste his own come, and tried to imagine that Spock’s fingers were his dick while he sucked, and licked and scraped his teeth over them.  It didn’t take very long for Spock to come. Jim felt Spock’s pull his hand from Jim’s mouth. He thrust a few more times, with both hands on Jim’s waist, almost lifting Jim where he wanted him. Jim heard Spock’s low gasp of his name, and the barely-contained strength of Spock’s hands curling on Jim’s hips, and then all the tension seemed to drain out of Spock.

Spock slumped back down on the blankets with a sigh.  Jim just lay there for a moment, cataloguing all the varying tingles and twinges of his body before he pulled away, sliding under the blankets to stand up in front of the mirror. He kicked off his underwear, and then winced a little as some of the dried come on his ass pulled at the hair on his body.

Seeing Spock look so wrecked after sex was kind of hilarious. It seemed very ‘un-Spock’, but Jim figured he could get used to it fairly easily. “I’m just going to get something to clean up.”

Jim walked over to the stove, and noticed that Spock had something bubbling away on it. He used the cloth to peek at the contents and frowned. Spock would probably get pretty damn sick of starches pretty soon. They wouldn’t be able to stay here indefinitely. Eventually, they’d have to go find food. Jim replaced the lid and then dipped some of the unboiled water into a small cup. He coughed a startled exclamation at the freezing temperature, but used it to clean off the sweat and come off of him.  He rinsed it, then brought the same cloth to Spock. Instead of taking it, Spock reached out and cupped Jim’s face, bringing him in for a (and Jim realized this with a shock; their first!) sweet, slow kiss.

Jim couldn’t help the dopey smile when they pulled apart. Spock didn’t quite smile, but the features of his face weren’t so rigid, and his eyes told their own story. Plus, the bedhead was damn cute. Spock leaned forward and kissed the scar on Jim’s forehead, then his lips once again before taking the cloth and cleaning up.

Jim crawled into bed, happy, as Spock tossed the towel in the direction of the woodstove, obviously not caring where it landed.

“Seems rather slovenly for one of Starfleet’s elite.”

Spock pulled Jim into his body again, wrapping his arms around him with no hesitation. “You may inform my commanding officer in the morning.”

Jim snorted, and settled down, moving his arm so it wouldn’t fall asleep, pulling up the blankets so that they were comfortable. Spock had a surprisingly comfortable mat of chest hair that Jim found he enjoyed rubbing his cheek against. He snaked his arm around Spock to his side, to feel his heartbeat, and made a small, comfortable sound of pure bliss.

The comforting fire crackled, and the tumultuous wind blew, but when Jim drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t help but wish that whatever tomorrow brought, it would be just as wonderful as today.


	8. Chapter 8

The crow circled overhead, screaming obscenities down at them. Spock looked up under the brim of his hat and cocked an eyebrow at the raucous sound. Jim shrugged. “I guessed we pissed him off.”

Spock didn’t reply, but he did shift his weight behind Jim, settling his hands on Jim’s waist and moving just a half an inch closer. It seemed to be a favorite position of his. Jim smiled a little. In the four days since they first slept together, they’d done little else but fool around and sleep while the blizzard blew itself out. Once it did, and their food was pretty much gone, Jim and Spock had made the decision to go into town and find some supplies.

The mule brayed, as though answering the crow, and shook itself, sending the materials clanging against one another. “Do you think we’ll get much for all that?” Jim mused aloud, staring at the mule as it lagged behind slightly, still eying the crow mistrustfully. Jim clicked his tongue and the mule did the muleish equivalent of rolling its eyes before complying, plodding along at the horse’s speed.

“I am unsure of the rate of trade. All of these items are of good quality and usefulness; but as to them being a commodity, I am unable to venture an opinion at this time.”

That made sense. They had scoured the small homestead for everything they couldn’t possibly use. Whoever had looted before had gotten anything like money or jewelry, but had left a lot of the everyday household items. It seemed archaic to JIm to have to calculate the cost of a trade item in light of the money that they’d receive for it, but either in this time period, or on this planet (Over the four days, they’d discussed it endlessly. Spock thought time, Jim leaned towards strange planet.) that was most likely the economic trade used, if the small, neat accounting book they’d found in the living room had been any indication. They mule was laden down with clothes, some of the staple supplies, and one delicate porcelain pitcher and bowl that had survived the violence. Jim sighed, tightening his hands on the reins. Whoever Clementine and Carl had been, and why they’d been murdered was a mystery. But Jim knew that they would be dead without the things they had left behind.

“Are you well, Jim?”

Jim shook off his slight mood. “I am, Spock. Honest.”

“Mm.”

Jim didn't need to be facing Spock to wince at Spock’s reply. The other reason they were heading into town was that Jim had noticed some reddening of his thigh wound, and not wanting to bother Spock or mess up the sweet, lazy days filled with them exploring each other, had hidden it. It hadn’t been too difficult with the blankets and low light in the cellar. He and Spock hadn’t gone much more beyond what they’d already done, sexually speaking. Spock had not seemed fully ready to be more physically intimate. In previous relationships, Jim usually went right for actual intercourse and called it a day-- this slow pace of discovery was amazing. Jim hadn’t wanted to push or make him feel uncomfortable, so Spock hadn’t noticed his wound with everything else they had going on.

When he _did_ notice, Spock had been furious.

Small red streaks had spread out from the now swollen wound, from under the cloth. Jim knew that it was an infection of some sort, but he also knew that there was not a goddamn thing he could do about it.

Besides.

He didn’t want to be the cause of ruining the mood. Jim couldn’t honestly remember the last time he’d been so happy; he and Spock had talked about everything and nothing. He felt like someone in a romance holo- and if that was true, Jim didn’t want it to ever end.

Jim saw the little sign about the time the path through the woods spread out into an open road. The road forked up ahead. To the left was a sign pointing to Perseverance. To the right was a sign pointing to Jackrabbit Hollow. Jim paused at the fork of the two roads, turning his head and staring at each sign as though he’d be given some sort of sign on which way to go.

“Which one, do you think?”

“I have no preference. However, Jackrabbit Hollow sounds. . . colorful.”

Jim grinned. “Colorful it is.”

On the way there, they passed several wagons and people riding singly on horses. They got a couple of weird looks until Spock pulled down the cowboy hat over his ears.

The cowboy hat was another thing. Jim could honestly say he didn’t know when or where they were, but the clothes were definitely reminiscent of something out of one of the old Westerns Frank kept around the house. The ones where there was always some Evil Antagonist Rail Baron that was keeping the good people of Whatever Town down,  or a Bandit Leader ready to take over a ranch that didn’t belong to him, or something of the like. Really, Jim just read them for the action scenes: a duel between two men (or in one case two women) at high noon in the middle of the town. If a duel was gonna happen anywhere, he didn’t think it would be in a town called ‘Perseverance’. It would definitely be in something called ‘Jackrabbit Hollow’.  

Clothes-wise, he and Spock had the whole shebang. Denims, boots, open-chested shirts, vests, and cowboy hats. The only thing that they were missing was the belts cowboys always seemed to wear- holsters for their guns and the bandolier with bullets of course. In the books (and holos) everyone and their uncle’s brother seemed to have one.  

The horse clomped on with the mule stepping slowly along behind, and Jim could see the signs of a small town. He saw what looked like power cords, which was surprising. The house they’d been at hadn’t had any kind of electricity. The largest building in the town was a saloon. It had three floors, and looked to be made out of wood. Jim could see a church, a schoolhouse, a train station, a livery, and several homes. He also saw a general store, a gun store, and an undertaker, but no doctor.

“I believe our first stop should be the general store.” Spock’s low voice situated as it was just at his ear made Jim shiver in reaction. There was a definite tone of smugness when Spock continued, “We can then sell the mule at the livery.”

“R-right. Sounds good.” Jim cleared his throat a little self-consciously, and clicked his tongue at the horse.  The horse had no need of Jim’s direction, having already began to move before Jim pulled at the reins. Spock hopped nimbly off the horse and secured it, while Jim slid off a lot less graciously and much more slowly. His leg almost collapsed underneath him, and Jim tried to play it off at Spock’s sudden laser-like direct look. “Just been riding awhile. No biggie.” He forced a grin.  There wasn’t any pain in his leg, but instead a strange, empty numbness.

The corners of Spock’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t say anything. He pulled the lead rope of the mule who suffered being hitched to the post with a lot less grace than the horse. They walked into the store side by side.

“Greetings, gentlemen. How may I help you this fine morning?” The shopkeeper was a cadaverously thin man with a head of curly, frizzy hair and a wide handlebar mustache that came to two very precise points. His suit was clean and a little faded, but nice, and his apron was crisp and unstained as he bent over a crate of apples.

Jim’s mouth watered. Damn, he loved apples.

“Hello there, sir. We have some goods to trade for food, if possible.”

The shopkeeper’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t look like Jim’s words were anything out of the ordinary. “Well then. Let me just finish up here, and we can see what you have.”

Spock started looking around at the different vegetables and dried and canned fruits, and Jim tried not to drool too obviously over the apples while the shopkeeper finished stacking them in a small display crate.

The shopkeeper wiped his hands on his apron, smoothing his mustache. “Alright good sir. Let’s go see your items.” He started to walk to the mule. “Now, I can’t claim to need all the odds ‘n’ ends ya brought me, of course, since I don’t know what you’re bringin’ me, but I will give you the best trade value, rest assured.”

“Oh no problem, sir. Thank you very much.”

The mule, who was clearly tired of everyone’s shit, had lay down right in the middle of the dirt in front of the hitching post. The stubborn thing was practically strangling itself with its lead rope, but obviously preferred to lie with its neck stretched out than stand comfortably. Jim rolled his eyes and limped over to give it a little more slack.

“Hmmm. Y’all new to town?”  The shopkeeper smoothed his mustache again  and started undoing the wrapped bundles, peering at the contents. The horse snuffed at his fluffy hair, checking to see that it wasn’t some new kind of snack. The shopkeeper nodded a few times, then turned and gestured that Jim take the items back inside.  

“Oh, not really. Well, yes. I suppose. This is the first time we’ve been to town, but we live in the area. Perseverance,” Jim said, thinking quickly. He and Spock had been rather distracted, and hadn’t thought to come up with a backstory- or at least one that was slightly more believable than: ‘one day we were in the stars in our spaceship drinking and celebrating the end of a successful mission and the next we appeared in a cave all shot up.’

“I see. Well, I can trade about five dollars worth of goods for what you brought me.”

“That will be satisfactory.”

The shopkeeper jumped when Spock spoke, as though he had forgotten that Spock was there. Hi eyes darted to Jim, then to Spock, then back to the goods piled on the floor.  Jim frowned. It almost seemed as though he were afraid of them. Jim pushed back the hat on his head to itch the healing scar on his forehead and the shopkeeper’s eyes widened.

“We will take two apples for now, if that is permissible. We plan on selling the mule, and will settle our trade then.”  

Jim couldn’t help the small, secret smile that now Spock was buying him apples.  They’d come a long way from the Kobayashi Maru. Jim was pretty sure Spock had wanted to shove _that_ apple down his throat. He reached into the bin and took two bright, red, juicy apples, throwing one to Spock and biting into the other with a satisfying crunch.

“Selling. . . the mule? Oh! Yes, that’s a good idea. A very good idea indeed! Mr. Knobles at the Livery will be quite pleased for so fine an animal.”

Jim caught Spock’s glance out of the corner of his eyes. Fine animal? That stubborn old thing? Well, maybe on this planet, mules were more valuable than horses?  Jim had heard of stranger things. “Thanks again for your help!”

“Oh don’t mention it. Please.” The shopkeeper gave a flustered little half-bow and moved around to the back of his counter.

“Let us conclude our business, Jim.”  Spock slid his hand against the small of Jim’s back as he opened the door, and the two of them walked outside. He might have spoken quietly, even calmly, but all Jim heard was, ‘let’s hurry up with this boring shit so we can go back to bed,’ but Jim was willing to admit he might be projecting a little.

As Jim blinked into the sunlight, he because aware of two very troubling things:  The first was that there were several more people out on the street then there had been before. This was hard not to notice; they were standing in a semi-circle behind three men who in turn were standing behind the two hitched animals. The other was that the shopkeeper locked the door mere milliseconds after it slammed shut behind he and Spock.

_Oh, Shit._

“Who owns this horse?” The speaker, a rough-looking man with rotten teeth, asked.

“Uh. It's mine.” Jim didn’t even think of lying. Long-dormant alarm bells were starting to ring in his head, and his heart started to beat a little faster as adrenaline sent a spark through his system. This definitely didn’t look good.

“That’s about what I figured.” There was a blur of movement as the man whipped his hand forward  and pulled his gun from his holster. “These bastards stole my horse! Them’s the ones that killed Leblanc and his brother after that bungled-up bank robbery! It’s the Enterprise Gang!”

Spock immediately turned so that Jim was behind him. To Jim’s shock, he saw Spock- passive, logical Spock- reach for a phaser- or maybe even a gun- that wasn’t there.

Another of the three men stepped forward. “That’s the one that shot me!  Came at me in the dead of night like some demon when we was followin’ them from their hideout.”  He pointed at Spock with his gun. “He kilt Charley! I saw ‘im with m’own eyes!”

“Well, well, well. I say we needs us a bit of justice.”

“No! You can’t.” Jim turned to Spock. “Spock! I’ve read all about this. He means a duel! You--”

Spock held up one hand, and Jim stopped, mid-sentence, his heart thundering in his chest. Spock looked from the three men, to the crowd that had gathered, and finally turned back to Jim.

“This man is injured. He is in no condition to administer your primitive justice customs.” Spock’s voice was loud as he addressed the crowd, but his brown gaze was direct on Jim’s blue one, not looking away.  “I will accept your challenge.”

 _Wait. No!_ “Spock! No. . . that’s. . . _no_!”

“You don’t tell us how to do our business, Prettyboy. Y’all take him! Heard he’s pretty cagey, too. Don’t let him get the drop on ya.”

Jim barely heard him. He clutched Spock’s arms. “C’mon Spock. You can’t. . . it’s a _duel_. That means he’s gonna shoot at you!”

“Yes. I am familiar with the custom.” Something filtered across Spock’s face, too quickly for Jim to read. Spock pulled Jim to him in what Jim through was to be an embrace, but Spock instead hit him directly in the thigh, sending the numbness spreading throughout his leg. Jim grunted as his leg gave out on him completely. Jim didn’t feel any pain, but Jim’s vision greyed out at the edges. Spock eased him gently to the ground.

“I demand a doctor for my Captain. You can see that he is not well. Additionally, he has information regarding several other bank robberies in the area and should he perish, you would be left without.”

Jim tried to fight the grey at his vision. He’d fainted before, and  knew what it felt like. Jim tried to regulate his breathing so that he got all the oxygen he needed. What the fuck was Spock talking about? Information on bank robberies?  Jim tried to struggle when the two men grabbed him by each of his elbows, lifting him and stepping out of the way, but he didn’t have the strength. He was too stunned by Spock’s betrayal.

Spock walked calmly towards the man. “I will need a weapon if you wish for this to be a fair fight, and not just senseless male posturing.”

The man laughed. “Lookit the solid _cojones_ on this sumbitch.” The man spit to the side, then spun his gun around and uncocked it. He did something with the chamber and spun it shut, handing the gun to Spock, handle first. “Well let’s go then, Smiley.”

“No. Come on, this isn’t fair! He doesn’t understand!” Jim struggled harder against the men holding him. “Goddammit, Spock, you’re gonna get yourself _killed!_ Don’t do this!”

“Prettyboy, you best pipe down before someone decides you need some help to be quiet.” Ain’t nothin’ you can do ‘bout this but order a box from the undertaker.”  The man to his left seemed built like a brick shithouse. There was no way that Jim was getting away from the two of them. That didn't mean he didn't struggle though. 

Jim’s eyes widened as he started to realize just how incredibly fucked they were.

Spock walked about ten paces away from the man with the rotten teeth, managing to buckle on the holster a helpful watcher had loaned him. The sun glinted off the handle as Spock turned to face his opponent. Jim met Spock’s gaze from so far away, still trying to get his brain to figure a way out of this. There had to be...  _fuck!_

The church bells began toiling, marking off the hour. Jim couldn't help but count. The tension on the street ratcheted up to an unbearable level, as everyone present held their breath, waiting to see what would happen. 

 _One_ . . _. Two_ . . . _Three_ . . . _Four._ . .

Spock’s opponent stood easily, obviously comfortable with the idea of fighting a duel in the middle of the street.  Jim’s heart was beating so hard that he was afraid it was visible. The two men on either side of him tightened their grip, obviously feeling his muscles tensing as he readied himself to do . . . something.

A tumbleweed tumbled across the path of the two men, disappearing between two buildings.

 _Five._ . . _Six_ . . . _Seven._ . . _Eight_. . .

Spock raised one hand to his hat and flung it to the ground. There was a gasp as the onlookers saw someone who was obviously not human standing in front of them, but no one did anything to stop the afternoon’s entertainment. Jim kicked at the brickshithouse. The man just tightened his grip until Jim heard something snap in his wrist. 

 _Nine_ . . . _Ten_ . . . _Eleven._ . . _Twelve_...

“Okay then!" Spock's opponent looked at one of the onlookers. "You. McPhearson. You count off. Then, on the count of three" He faced Spock. ". . . draw.”

The assembled watchers took a collective step back. From his half-collapsed position, all Jim could see was from the shoulders up of the man and of Spock, the onlookers completely obscuring his view.

“One.”

Jim heard a groaning, desolate sound, and realized it was coming from his own throat.

“Two.”

The crow cawed again, sounding desolate.

“Three.”

The crowd shifted again. Jim’s view of the two men was perfect. In the bright sunlight, Spock stood there unafraid, hands resting calmly at his side. Spock’s opponent also stood, but he was clearly ready to shoot, fingers twitching.

“ _ **D**_ ** _RAW_ ** **!** ”

The two gunshots came with barely a split-second between them. Jim clearly saw the bullet hit Spock in the side, and felt a stunning relief that the Spock’s opponent had not gone for a heart or head shot. Jim saw Spock reel from the impact of the bullet while simultaneously drawing and shooting his weapon. 

He had time for a shocked thought:

- _but_. _. . Vulcan hearts aren’t in their chests ..._ \-- before the familiar there-not-there of a holo out of frequency blipped over Spock.

Before Jim could take in a shocked breath to scream, Spock disappeared.

 

* * *

* * *

 Jim knew he was fucked.

The problem was- he didn’t much care.

Oh he _had_. The first day, after Spock had disappeared, had been the worst. Jim couldn’t get the sound of the bullet hitting Spock’s side out of his mind. Even if he’d disappeared--and Spock had. There was no denying that- even though the onlookers had immediately thrown Jim into a jail cell, he hadn’t missed the varying hand signals meant to ward off evil, which meant that this wasn’t some hallucination only in Jim’s head. They _had_ seen it too.

But thinking of it too much brought back the knife-like, agonizing pain from before Spock’s meld. It had hit Jim so hard that it had startled him out of his grief. It had taken over everything. He’d vomited, and his jailers had obviously thought that it was some kind of ploy to escape, because they didn’t do anything about it.

He didn’t remember much of the rest of that day, but he’d woken up with tiny lines of blood trickling out of his ears and nose.

* * *

* * *

 

The second day, Jim had done everything he could do to keep from feeling that pain again. He hadn’t been hungry, or thirsty, and had worked very hard not to move; to keep a sense of complete numbness so not to set off his head again. He’d slept, mostly.

* * *

* * *

 

The third day, he’d woken up with a fever, and a burning pain in his leg that he couldn’t ignore. They’d finally called a doctor, and he’d given Jim something called laudanum. That was nice. It made everything very, very calm and floaty. The doctor had muttered something about getting the information they needed quickly, and something else about something needing to come off, but Jim had been flying too high to catch what had been said. The doctor had prodded at the gunshot wound on Jim’s leg, and that had been immensely unpleasant, but he’d received more laudanum for his trouble so that was okay.

His captors had seen him then, and there had been questions, but Jim had been in no state to answer them. Then pain. So much more pain when they'd shown their displeasure.

* * *

* * *

 

 

The fourth day (at least Jim assumed it was the fourth day by the four trays sitting by the bars of his cell)  Jim knew that this was the end.

Bones had tried, and Spock had tried, but Jim was just too. . .something. Too heartbroken. Too tired. Too weak.

Of course, that’s when the hallucinations really started.

He dreamed he saw Spock, eyes blazing with anger, yelling; actually, _yelling_ at Jim. But whatever language he was yelling in, Jim didn’t know. Bones stood just behind him with a hypo in his hand. Jim couldn’t understand him either, but he kept looking off at something in the distance, looking more and more worried as Jim failed to understand.

And the pain was back. A sound like a hundred metal hooks drilling through his teeth, the snap of a thousand bones shattering at once, the dull, quiet, heart-wrenching sound of a million bullets hitting the flesh drove Jim into curling into a ball on the filthy, stained mattress, screaming until his voice shattered. When he couldn’t scream, he lay there with his lips pulled back over his teeth, screaming without sound. He could taste the blood in his throat as his nose bled; feel it staining the mattress under him from his ears.

Eventually, he couldn’t help it. Jim let the pain overwhelm him, stepped into the torment as though it was something tangible.

Of course, that’s when everything changed.

* * *

* * *

 

“Chris- give me 100 ml of kermazopine, _stat!_ M’Benga, I’m going to need you with the regenerator- god knows what the fuck those barbarians hopped his fool ass up with. Spock for the third fucking time I’m gonna need you to step back before I throw you out of my goddamn medba-- aw, _shit!_ He’s seizing!"

Jim heard the words, but didn’t understand. He was barely conscious. He felt hands on his body, and something cold, then something very warm, and very familiar against the sides of his face, and then the blessed, _blessed_ relief of absolutely...

...nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things
> 
> 1) I had originally ended this chapter on **_DRAW_** and figured you guys might murder me in my sleep. 
> 
> 2) Okay! You have all the hints you need to what happened to our three guys. I think. What do you think happened? Answer in the comments before the next chapter is posted, and the person who guessed closest gets a ficlet of their choosing from me!)


	9. Chapter 9

“Jim? Jimmy? Come on, kid. Wake up for me.”

Jim’s eyes fluttered open slowly. He blinked Bones into focus. It took a few seconds before he managed. His eyes didn’t want to work the way they were supposed to.

He tried to lick his lips, but his mouth was too dry.  Bones, being Bones, reached over and grabbed him a drink of water, complete with bendy straw.

“So. The short version. You’re alive. . . barely. We caught the fuckers that hurt us, and Spock has been. Well. If there’s anything left of them, they’ll be in the brig. Spock and Sulu have been running the ship, and we haven’t careened into a planet yet, so I’m callin’ that a win.”

Jim blinked, trying to process everything.  He got that he was back on the _Enterprise_. He also understood that Bones and Spock were both here as well, that except for whatever the hell had happened, he was okay. Bones helped him lean up, and Jim drank through the proffered straw, pathetically grateful for the cold, sweet water. He felt like he’d be able to drink it for years, and never have enough.

“Better?”

“Mm.” Jim winced when he tried to nod in answer to Bones’ question. His head felt- well. It was nothing like what he remembered feeling. It didn’t feel like someone with a hatchet was planning on cleaving his head in two. But he did feel hollow. Scrubbed out.

He almost. . . almost recognized--- but no. It was gone.

Bones helped Jim lie back onto the bed. The blanket slipped, and Jim was more pleased than he probably should have been to see his own ‘Fleet-issued jammies instead of the clothes he’d been wearing on the other planet.  He cocked his head, trying to think, but the hollowed out feeling and the exertion from sitting up and drinking the water made him just want to sleep.

So, safe in the knowledge that he’d wake up again, Jim slept.

The next time Jim woke up, he felt much more alert. He was also starving.

“Jello?! I’ve just spent like a week eating weird-ass food on some oddball planet, and you’re giving me jello? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad to see that your arm’s better and all and I like porridge as much as the next guy, but-- ”

Christine Chapel, who was taking Jim’s blood pressure, fumbled the scanner. It fell to the floor with a clatter. Jim looked up in time to see Bones’ narrow-eyed glare, and Chapel’s flustered, apologetic blink.

“Hey. What’s that about?” Christine started to turn away, but Jim reached out and touched her hand to stop her. He just stared at Bones, attempting some version of his ‘Captain face.’ To be fair, his ‘Captain face’ only worked about once in every two hundred times he tried to use it on Bones, and only when Bones already felt guilty about something.

This happened to be one of those times.

“Oh--kay.” Jim looked from Chapel to Bones. “My brain isn’t leaking out of my ears. I’m pretty sure that whatever was wrong has been fixed, or you wouldn’t have woken me up. You can tell me what’s going on, now.” Nothing. Fucking crickets. Jim’s mouth tightened. He was the goddamn captain around here, and he wanted some answers. He looked straight at Bones, when he said, quietly, “What aren’t you telling me?”

Bones sighed, long and hard, pinching the top of his nose. “Shit, Jim. I almost don’t know where to begin. Chapel, I’m sorry.”

Chapel, sniffed, but softened it with a smile to Bones before patting Jim’s hand, bending gracefully down and picking up the scanner. “Nice to have you back, Captain.” She handed it to Bones with more force than was probably necessary, and cleared out of the room.  Jim got the very strong impression that she didn’t agree with something that Bones was doing, or had done.

“Computer, engage privacy lock, McCoy, Leonard Horatio. Chief Medical Officer Override Starfleet Designation 1201920671972.”

Well, shit. That override would ensure that _Jim_ couldn’t even escape it. He struggled to sit up, trying to brace himself. To his knowledge, Bones had never used it before.

“Before I start, how’s your noggin? Egg still feeling a little scrambled?”

Jim took stock, eyebrows raising in shock when he realized that he was pain free from tips to toes. “No, actually. I feel. . . tired, I guess. But nothing too bad. What was wrong with me?”

Bones hooked a stool with his leg and dragged it to Jim’s biobed, sitting down and resting his elbows on the blanket, then rubbed his temples with his fingers.

“Bones.”

Bones sighed. “Okay, Jim. What do you remember about the radiation. From before. With the popsicle?”

Jim blinked. He hadn’t expected Bones to start there. “Not much. You know that. I remember running to the warp core, and realigning it pretty clearly. Then waking up in the bed with you cracking jokes.” Well, that wasn’t _quite_ true. Jim remembered Spock’s hand on the glass, and eyes wet with so much emotion that it hurt Jim to see it. . . but Bones didn’t need to know all that. “I remember afterwards, with Carol going public with everything Marcus had done.. What are you getting at here, Bones?”

Bones sighed. “Do you remember a crewman named Karl LeBlanc?”

Jim thought for a second. The name sounded familiar. Eventually, a face came to mind. “Tall guy, in engineering. Had a thing for goofy puns. He. . . died when Marcus fired on us.” Jim could clearly see the man’s lifeless, burned body flung around as the grav controls had gone absolutely bonkers, bouncing off the ship’s deck.

“Actually, no. That was his younger brother, Chris. Karl died during the _Narada_ attack, Jim. He managed to evacuate, but debris crashed into his pod, killing him.”

Jim blinked again. “We had two brothers serving on the _Enterprise_? Both of whom died?”

Bones nodded, and hit a few keys on his PADD, bringing up a file with a few beeps. He turned the PADD so Jim could see. Both brothers looked extremely similar. The one on the left, Christopher LeBlanc, was almost beaming into the camera in his Starfleet picture, chest puffed out with pride, showing his blue science uniform. His brother Karl was more solemn, staring directly towards the camera, his red uniform perfect.

Bones tapped another key on the PADD. “After the _Vengeance_ crashed into San Francisco, there were two more casualties. The Leblanc’s sister Zoe was killed when some of the building infrastructure of their home collapsed. And. . . Zoe’s son, Zachary. He was found later under the same debris that killed his mom. It uh. It appeared that Zoe had tried to protect him with her body, and failed. Zach was four.”

“Jesus Christ, Bones.”  Jim blinked, staring at the family picture Bones had called up, with all of the Leblancs smiling in what looked like a Christmas photograph. “Who is that?” Jim pointed to the man in the picture, smiling quietly between both of his sons, one hand resting on both of their shoulders. In that picture Zachary was only about a year old, but he was also smiling, one drooly tooth bared for the world to see.

Bones sighed. “That.” He tapped the key, showing Security footage of the same man sitting in the brig, with Spock pacing outside of the glass wall like a caged animal. “This is from yesterday. That is the man who is currently sitting in your brig. Simon Leblanc.”

Jim started to get a really, terribly sick feeling in his gut.

“One of the problems with going public with a ‘covert Starfleet facility’ is that all the nasty shit that they’d been working on _also_ becomes public- not just the evil deeds that came from it. Hell, you’re the one that told me there was actually a group of whackadoos out there trying to find where they launched Khan and his people. What they plan on doing with them, well. Let’s just hope they never find ‘em.” Bones, stopped, realizing that he was nervously babbling and visibly gathered himself. “Leblanc. . . _shit_ , Jim. Leblanc spent everything he had and quite a bit that he didn’t have to do it, but he managed to purchase one of those nasty toys. Something called a. . . Thoughtmaker.” Bones swiped to show a picture of a silver and pink cylindrical object. It was faintly glowing, almost pulsing with a dark red malevolent glow.

Jim’s nausea started to rise. He swallowed, hard.

Bones pressed on. “You, me, and Spock were found in your quarters, Jim. Locked in. We’d been drinking, but Scotty said that we were all sitting there, slumped on the couch. That thing had been found in a box in your closet, hidden away.” His voice changed, gentled. “Leblanc had stowed away after our last supply run. He managed to avoid detection until Security did a sweep, when nothing woke us up. He.” Bones shut off the PADD. “He was found with pictures of his family, with one of these whirlygigs in front of him.”

_But. . ._

Bones itched his eyebrow. “I think Chekov got me out by accident. He and M’Benga realized that the energy signature of the two spheres were identical, and overlapped with our brain activity.”

“But. . .”

“It was so damn hard to think with that headache. But I kept hearing Chekov’s voice. Damndest thing.” He shook his head. “Anyway,once The pain got so bad that I snapped out of it, we tried to get you. We tried a couple of times, but something interfered. Your stubborn ass just wouldn’t give up. Then Spock had to wade in with his--” Bones waved his hand around. “-- mind stuff and that was that. I’ll have to check into that when I get. . . ah. Some time.”

“But that means. . .”

“Yeah, Jimmy. None of it was real.” Bones carefully didn’t look at him, then just as carefully did.

Jim felt like he’d been shot again.

“I didn’t break my arm. You weren’t shot. Spock. . .”

Oh god. _Spock_. All of that. Those days in the cellar. . . all fake? Just in his head?  Jim felt what was left of his heart crack and fall to the floor. He was afraid he would puke, but there was nothing in his stomach to bring up. He wanted to jump out of bed and go confront Spock, to try to figure out what the hell was going on, and simultaneously hide in his quarters and never leave again.

But he couldn’t just collapse. Bones had locked him in here to deliver a blow that. . . well. Yeah. It hurt.  Jim couldn’t even process everything he was feeling at the moment, so he shoved it aside. Jim didn’t have the luxury of just hiding away.  Now that he was. . . he had shit to do. He had an enemy in his brig, and if nothing else, protocol would get him through, despite the fact that he wanted to curl up and just. . . cry.  

When Jim spoke, it was very, very faint. “I need to go interview Leblanc. Spock should. . . should be there.”  Just saying his name was painful. It seemed impossible that Jim could have created this whole. . . fantasy, but Bones wouldn’t lie to him. Jim managed to stuff his own feelings way down where they belonged. He swung his feet to the ground, reaching for his uniform.

“Er--. Well, that’s the other thing I need to tell you.” Bones stood up, turned his back on Jim, and began rearranging the already perfectly organized medical supplies. “Spock has.” He cleared his throat. “uh. . . shit.”

Jim froze with his head poking through his uniform top. “Spock has. . . _what_ , Bones.”

Bones sucked in a deep breath, then blurted, “Spock has declared himself unfit for duty, and insisted that security arrest him for mental coercion and sexual assault of a superior officer. He has been in the brig almost since you woke up.”

Jim froze, staring at Bones, uncomprehendingly. The words all made sense, but not in the order that Bones said them. Jim struggled for a second to get his arms into the uniform top, but eventually managed to dress himself, only to be stopped by Bones’ security lock.

“Now, Jim. . .”

“Nope. Let me out.”

“Jim, you gotta---”

“I said _no_ , Bones. Let me out right now.”

Jim barely heard Bones give the order to the computer. He knew he had to look a mess as he practically ran through the corridors, but he didn’t really have the extra ability to care. His crew jumped to the side so as not to get in his way as Jim headed to the lift, and down to the brig.

Jim didn’t know how the hell he was going to fix this. Once an allegation of that nature was made, it was a matter of record. Starfleet Legal wasn’t exactly known for its warm and fuzziness when it came to any type of mutiny, and Spock _had_ to have known that.  The lift doors opened, and Jim stopped for a moment to smooth his hair before he went into the brig.

The worst part. . .? No matter how much of a clusterfuck his personal life was, Jim’s duty was clear. He had to first speak with Leblanc. _Then_ he could deal with Spock.

Their brig was the standard six-being setup, with three cages on each side of a large area. There were two security crew on assignment at all times, and if there were more than two prisoners, additional crew helped to guard them. At the checkpoint, where Jim was now standing, was Cupcake.

“Good to have you back, sir.”

“Thanks, Hendorff. I’m going to need time with the prisoner in A.”

“In... A, sir? Are you certain you don’t mean the prisoner in. . . E?”

Jim winced. “Yeah. I’m certain. E will. . . have to wait.”

“I see.” Lieutenant  Hendorff, who Jim still privately called ‘Cupcake’ from their first meeting, held up the scanning PADD. “Scan, please.”

Jim did, knowing that his questioning would also be recorded. It was SOP for any brig interviews.

The doors slid open, it took every bit of Command training he possessed not to look at Spock in the clear glass cage.  Jim ignored him completely, walking towards the broken-looking man in A. Jim drew himself to attention. “Mr.. Leblanc?”

The man slowly sat up from the bunk and turned to face Jim. “Captain Kirk.” His voice trembled.

“Mr. Leblanc. . .”

Simon Leblanc held up his hand. “Don’t bother. Your First let me know every single thing that awaits me once you drop me by the closest star base. Threats don’t matter to me.”

“I know. I know they don’t.” Jim couldn’t keep the compassion out of his voice. “I am so sor--”

Oddly enough, that seemed to enrage the man more than anything.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you _dare_ feel sorry for me. It’s because of you! YOU that everything I love in my life is gone. Do you think that you were gonna just swan in here like some big, damn, hero and make everything better? What, are you gonna magically bring my sons back to me? My daughter?” His voice cracked. “My grandson?”

Jim had to swallow past the tightness in his throat. “You are aware then of your actions?”

Leblanc snorted and sat back down on the bunk, staring defiantly at Jim through crossed arms. “Am I aware that I gave you a little bit of pain? Of heartache? I _swear_  to you, everything you imagined you felt is much, much worse in reality.” He snorted. “ I admit I didn’t expect the Vulcan’s interference. Believe me, seeing you live out some little perverted fantasy in full and painful detail wasn’t particularly fun for me.”

Jim flinched.

“You lookin’ for me to say that I’m sorry?” Leblanc stared at Jim, face cold with fury. “I’m not. If I could have made you hurt more, I would have. Oh I know why you’re here. Tryin’ to have some last minute heart to heart for the review board. I’ll tell you what I’ll tell them. I don’t care what happens to me.” He stretched out on the bed and turned his back towards Jim, shutting down the conversation the only way he could. “Now, fuck off. _Captain._ ”

Jim stood there, blinking, feeling completely superfluous. He nodded, once, and turned on his heel. Spock was standing at his own parade rest, staring at Jim.

Jim thought, furiously. “Hey, Cup--er. Lieutenant Herdorff? Think you can mute the sound to A for me?” That wasn’t completely out of the realm of precedent. There was nothing that would allow Jim to speak to Spock in complete privacy, not while he was in the brig, but Jim could at least keep Leblanc from hearing what the two of them talked about. It would be public record though. Jim would have to be careful not to say too much. Given what Spock had had himself arrested for, anything would be scrutinized for hidden meaning once the review board got a hold of these interviews.

Part of Jim wished he could just order Spock to his quarters, but that would be _definitely_ frowned upon. 

Jim wanted to sit down. Or go freak out in private, or something. He did neither. Just the idea that someone could hate him that much. . . could _blame_ him for so many terrible tragedies. . . well, it was a bit of a mindfuck, to be honest. Literally. Leblanc had wanted to hurt him, and figured out a way to do it in the most painful way possible- by using Bones and Spock.

It took quite a bit of mustered bravery, but Jim managed to meet Spock’s gaze, only to shy away from the direct brown gaze.  This was the Spock from the Maru review board, with any humanity locked tightly away.

Fully aware of their audience, Jim took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking. “Commander Spock. You are hereby ordered to remain incarcerated in the ship’s brig pending the review of your actions by Admiral Kormac. Do you wish to add anything prior to that review?”

“I do not.”

Jim could feel himself struggle to remain impassive.

It was just yesterday. It was so hard not to do or show _something_ of how close they’d been. Spock had been sweet, and protective, and kind, and sensual, and Jim had been happier in those few days then he’d ever been in his whole miserable life. All the half-truths and hidden feelings he’d felt for Spock had been out there; acted on without Jim needing to say anything. The meld had been even more so intimate, linking the two of them together in a way that Jim never could have dreamed.

And then it had been ripped away.

Jim forced himself to nod, and pulled his uniform top down with hands that shook. “As you were, then.” Jim didn’t even recognize his voice. He turned smartly on his heel, protocol carrying him blindly past the security checkpoints and to his quarters where he could finally... _finally_. . . break down in peace.

 

* * *

* * *

The whistle of an incoming message was annoying.

Jim tried to ignore it. He’d been trying for the better part of an hour. Had it been the tone that signified a member of his crew needed him, well that he would have responded to immediately. But that whistle meant that it was from an outside transmission.

In the two days since he’d woken up in medbay, Jim had done his best to comply with his doctor’s wishes, which had been ‘complete and utter goddamn _rest_ Jim, for God’s sake.’ Bones had swung things so no one had any reason to interfere with Jim’s rest.  Sulu had stepped up to serve as CO while Spock was in the brig, and Jim was. . . indisposed, and things had been going along- what Jim assumed was smoothly since no one had bothered him.

His time for introspection hadn’t brought him many answers. Jim knew that there had been no sexual assault. That was asinine. Spock would no more hurt Jim than cut off his own arm and beat himself with it. Still, Spock had fully (and in his own mind deservedly) committed career suicide by turning himself into Bones.  He’d gone through every scenario in his head from quitting Starfleet and joining Spock on whatever work planet they assigned him, to hijacking one of his own shuttles and he and Spock heading for the proverbial hills.

Of course, that assumed that Spock still had any interest in taking up where their shared memories had left off.

The whistle chimed again, this time with the double tone that let Jim know it was from Starfleet.

Fuck.

The only reason he’d be contacted from Starfleet now would be because Kormac had come back with a ruling for Spock.

Feeling like he was going to his own funeral, Jim gave in. He sat up and tried to straighten his hair. Jim wasn’t exactly dressed for company, but figured the black undershirt and uniform pants fit his mood enough. At least he was decent.

“Computer, send incoming message to my desk viewscreen.”

“Acknowledged.” The computer always sounded feminine to Jim, which he figured was pretty weird. Jim sat down and tried to brace himself. He swallowed hard and tapped the key that would allow the transmission to come through.

“Admiral.”

“Ah! Jim. Damn, you’re a hard man to reach. Just had to confirm with you a few loose ends.”

Loose ends? Spock was _not_ a ‘loose end.’ What a piece of shit. Jim had never particularly cared for Kormac much before, but he suddenly loathed the man with every single cell in his body. His hands might have clenched under the desk, but he knew his face remained impassive when he spoke. “Sorry. Doctor’s orders.” Jim faked a smile, and Kormac nodded, obviously paying only partial attention.

“Indeed. Okay, with the matter of one Simon Leblanc. Nasty business that. We’ve reviewed the interviews submitted by your security officer, and everything seems pretty cut and dried. He’ll be removed from your brig when you refill at-- hm. Looks like you’re up for shore leave back at the _Yorktown_. Maybe we can meet to discuss your Vice-Admiralty.”

Jim would rather flay the skin from his own body.

“The transfer of the prisoner looks all in order,” Kormac continued blithely.

Jim forced himself to breathe. “And Commander Spock?”

Kormac looked from a PADD to  a screen out of Jim’s view. “Commander. . . Spock. Ah, yes. Actually, no. What about him?”

Jim blinked.

“Nope, just see that your McCoy mentioned. . . hm. I have it right here--” Jim heard a beep of the PADD. “--‘some residual contact between commanding officers, through no fault of their own. Commander Spock will follow up with Dr. M’Benga, and Captain Kirk with myself for some informal counseling, should either feel it in their best interests to do so.”  Kormac looked at Jim through the viewscreen, obviously confused. “Is there an issue?”

Jim was gonna kick Bones’ ass into the next twelve dimensions, then borrow Old Spock’s little flying Jellyfish, find him, and kick his ass again.

The cagey bastard never turned in Spock.

“Oh, no sir. No issue. Sorry.” Jim made kind of a goofy face. “Haven’t had my coffee yet. I'll make sure that Leblanc is seen to and transferred safely. What was the other thing you mentioned?”

“Oh. Just that, while exceptionally tragic, we wanted to just take a moment to confirm that you are in no way responsible for the demise of the Leblanc family.”

Jim nodded. He knew that. He’d had plenty of guilt about everything else that had happened, but he wasn’t egotistical enough to think that it really was all due to him. “Thank you, Admiral. Was there anything else?” He had to get to some latent ass-kicking of his CMO.

“There is not. Good day, Captain.”

“Good day, sir. Kirk out.”

Jim barely waited for the transmission to _plink_ out before he was jumping up and striding towards his doors. He wasn’t just gonna kill Bones, he was gonna find a way to resurrect him, and kill him and then resurrect him _again_ and.

A thought made Jim stop short of triggering the door to his quarters from opening.

Wait. If Bones hadn’t turned in Spock for ‘actions unbecoming’ (and now it seemed so _obvious_ \- of course Bones wouldn’t. Now, had Spock actually done something that warranted it? Bones would have warped to Command himself to tell them chapter and verse.) then why was had Spock not come to see him?

Jim’s euphoria deflated rather abruptly when he remembered his last words to Spock, and how they must have sounded.

No. He could fix this!

Jim started to take a step forward, when he caught sight of himself in the mirror next to his door. He winced and turned, heading towards the head. He was in dire need of a shower. And a shave. And probably some clean underwear.

By the time he got out of the shower and had thrown on some civvies, Jim had a plan. He’d go to Spock. He’d tell him everything he should have told him before. There would be kissing. Possibly groveling. Jim didn’t much care.

Armed with his plan, Jim made it as far as the lift before he just as abruptly turned and slunk back to his quarters.

He couldn’t go barge in on Spock. Spock obviously had no interest in talking to him, or changing his mind about anything. While Jim had been wallowing in self-pity, trying to think of a way to ‘save’ Spock, Spock had been free to come to Jim at any point, and had chosen not to. Jim had to. . . respect his wishes, didn’t he? Maybe Spock was disgusted by what they’d done, and didn’t want to cause some sort of big scene. Maybe he just had no interest in any type of relationship with Jim, outside of their professional relationship.

Jim just didn’t know.

He slumped in his chair, with his head in his hands. When his door whistled, Jim looked up, shocked at the interruption. Could it be Spock?

“Come.”

The door slid open, and to Jim’s shock, Chekov and Bones stood there. Chekov had his hands full with some sort of box, but Bones. . .

Jim’s eyes narrowed. “ _You_.”

Bones brought up both hands in a peacekeeping gesture. “Now, Jim.”

Jim jumped up and started walking towards his best friend. “Don’t you ‘now Jim’ me. You let me think! You! You. . .!”

Bones stepped to the left and just behind Chekov, not-so-coincidentally putting the couch between him and Jim. Jim eyed the distance, gauging if he could jump it and not accidentally hurt his Navigator. Bones took another step back.  “Wait! I know. . . but you needed the time to yourself before you barged in on the damn hobgoblin and confessed your undying love. Woulda been embarassin’ for all of us.”

Chekov looked mildly interested as he placed the large box on the couch. “I believe Commander Spock and the Keptin would make wery good couple.”

“‘Sides. Spock ain’t exactly in the mood for anyone to make any kind of confession. Not to put too fine a point on it, but he’s pretty pissed that I pulled that little trick. I released him for light duty a day ago, but he’s stayed locked up in his quarters, and has taken personal time. Says he is still ‘emotionally compromised.’”

All three of them winced at that.

Jim couldn’t help the pure feeling of desolation at Bones’ words. He hadn’t really expected anything different, but hearing it still sucked.

He sat down on his chair, frowning. “Then why are you here? What’s the point?”

“Ah. Well, that’s because of Chekov here.”

Chekov smiled brightly, still looking so much like the kid he’d been. Jim was pretty sure he’d always see him that way. “Well. . .”  He lifted off the top of the box, leaving the two pink and silver spherical objects in the bottom half of the box.

“ ... we had an idea.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The thought maker was a throwaway plot device from one of my favorite episodes of TNG, “  
>  [ The Battle ](http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/The_Battle_\(episode\))  
>  ”. If you haven’t seen it, or just haven’t seen it in awhile, I highly recommend giving it a   
>  [ quick looksee ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A1i2X-WBR7w)  
>  . 
> 
>  
> 
> I am desperately trying to get the last chapter posting-ready before midnight. If not, then as soon as I can in 2019!


	10. Chapter 10

Chekov had figured everything out. The plan was simple: Jim had just to concoct a scenario for him and Spock to share, then launch it from his side with his device. Then, it was just a matter to beam the other device to Spock’s quarters, say the trigger word, and ‘wolia’, instant happiness.  They’d all congratulated each other on their cleverness, then Bones and Chekov had gone off to have a celebratory drink, leaving Jim with the pair of Thought Makers.

Which brought Jim to now, sitting in his quarters, water dripping down the back of his neck from his shower. The problem was. . . he didn’t really _want_ to use it. He appreciated Chekov and Bones putting their heads together for him, but. . .  after all the trouble it caused before, it seemed kind of. . . wrong. Even if Spock was avoiding him like it was his job, Jim knew that forcing the issue would just end badly.

But. What if. . .?

No.

Jim sighed.

His door chimed.

Jim sighed again. “Come. Bones, come on. I told you I wasn’t going to-- oh.”

Spock stood there with his hands behind his back, left eyebrow raised.

“Do you often implore the good Doctor to . . . come?”

Jim side-eyed the two thought makers, making sure that they were both there and that Chekov hadn’t dropped one by Spock’s quarters before coming to see Jim. Spock almost sounded. . . flirty. Jim rubbed the back of his neck, trying to get his wishful thinking under control.

“Uh.”  Jim blinked. He felt like he’d just been offered water after running through a desert for a week. His eyes raked over Spock’s form, as though parched for the sight.

“Is it not customary for one to invite visitors inside the room?”

Jim realized he was standing in front of the door. He stepped aside, completely flustered, and Spock stepped inside.  Strangely enough, seeing the fact that Spock had a white-knuckled grip on his own hands, that he was actually displaying how nervous he was, helped Jim to relax slightly.  

“I’m glad you came by,” Jim blurted. 

Spock made a non-committal noise and sat down at one of the chairs they usually used for chess. The board was there, but Jim had never felt less like playing in his whole life. 

Spock still didn’t speak. His eyes cut over to the Thought Makers, then back to Jim, right eyebrow joining the left, disappearing under Spock’s hairline.

Jim’s eyes widened, thinking about how it looked to have them there. “Oh no. I mean. I thought about it, but I wasn’t going to. . . uh.”

“I believe that we need to talk.”

Jim winced. He couldn’t think of any sort of conversation in his life that had gone well that had started with those words. Jim couldn’t help himself from sneaking little glances up at Spock. The black tunic made him look amazing. And, even if it was only in his head, Jim couldn’t stop remembering what Spock felt like behind him.

Jim ran a hand through his drippy hair. He sat down across from Spock, nodding. “You’re right. So uh, to state the obvious- we saw the same things. When Bones was there, he saw what we saw. A shared. . .”

“Hallucination.”

Jim thought for a moment. “I suppose. We were given a situation, and reacted to it. Leblanc didn’t expect your Vulcan mind- and your uh, loyalty. I was supposed to be hurt over and over. He wanted me to feel pain, but didn’t count on Bones trying to save me and you trying to mel--”

“Yes, Jim. I have read the report.”

Jim shut his mouth. His heart felt somewhere lower than where it was supposed to be- instead beating in the vicinity of his feet. He stared at his bare toes, hating himself for being unable to give in to the temptation of having Spock. If only he hadn’t been so. . . needy.  He felt silly for “succumbing” for so many stupid cliches- he had been some stupid, pathetic damsel in distress who had needed saving over and over and over. Spock had to despise him; to feel tricked into something he never would have done in reality. Spock had been so disgusted by everything---

To Jim’s great shock, he felt Spock reach out with his finger and tilt Jim’s head up so that they were looking at each other.

“I have spoken at length with the Doctor, who assures me that you bear me no ill will for interfering twice in your medical condition.” Spock sounded perfectly emotionless, for all that he was actually _touching_ Jim. Jim had to keep telling himself that this was actually real. It was hard to listen to Spock’s words when his body was screaming at him, but a few moments later Spock’s words sunk in.

“Wait. Twice?”

“Indeed.”

“So you feel like everything that happened in. . . everything that happened because of Leblanc was . . . real?”

“Do you not?” Spock’s voice had lowered. “I certainly do. I told myself that the first meld was to keep you from pain.  And while that was its primary function, the rest was because I wished to feel your mind entwined with mine, Jim.”

Spock’s eyes were clear, all masks and walls gone. Jim could read his whole world in that dark gaze.

“The second meld was once Leonard had broken you from the pull of that machine. When I came back, I could still feel you. The link was faint, but undeniable. I felt that link weakening. I felt it grow brittle and vitreous. I confess; I was inexcusably. . . compromised. Your mind was convinced you were hurt. That you were dying. Your body did what your mind insisted to be true- and I could not. Not again. I--”

Spock’s fingers shook a little as he ghosted his fingertips along Jim’s jaw.

“I melded with your mind without your permission. My belief that it would be the only way to save you is not an excuse.”

Jim licked his lips. His heart had risen from his feet to somewhere in his throat. “And you think I’d be mad at you for that?”

“I was ‘mad at me for that’, Jim. I am unused to acting without considering all the ramifications of my actions.”

Jim couldn’t resist such provocation. Spock had all but given him an engraved invitation, delivered on a silver tray, with Heralds announcing its presence. He leaned forward slightly and kissed Spock’s mouth. He could feel Spock catch his breath, and Jim slid their lips together with a little more pressure. Spock kissed him back immediately, standing so carefully that the only part of their bodies that touched were the tips of Spock’s fingers against Jim’s skin and their lips. Jim cupped Spock’s face with his hands and their mouths met once again. Jim traced the seam of Spock’s lips with the tip of his tongue, then the kiss changed, becoming deeper and stronger as they traded control of the kiss.

When Jim broke away to suck in a gasp of air, Spock didn’t stop kissing him, instead moving his lips on Jim’s jaw, and neck, sliding back up to lick into Jim’s mouth as soon as Jim had the ability to breathe again.

When they broke apart, they both were breathing heavily. Even with all the time they had spent exploring each other in their minds, the solid reality of Spock touching him was making his head spin.

Well, maybe that was lack of oxygen.

Jim rested his forehead against Spock’s, kissing him when he felt like it. Some of their kisses were soft, chaste things, and some were so filthy that they might as well have been naked. After a few moments, Jim realized that Spock was speaking softly against Jim’s lips.

“Jim, I have desired you for so long that I find it difficult to conceive of a time when I did not. It is . . . difficult to not wish to meld with you. I find myself searching for that link at the most inopportune of times, desperate to share with you the most intimate part of myself.”

Jim pulled away. Spock sounded like he was apologizing. “What makes you think that I want you to not meld with me?”

Spock actually blinked, staring at him, completely stymied. It wasn’t very often that Jim could throw Spock for a loop.

“Spock, I don’t know how we keep getting everything wrong. Most of the time, we’re so perfectly in synch but lately when I zig, you zag. I’d laugh if it was happening to someone else.” Jim licked his lips again, knowing that he had to stop being nervous. Spock had been _in his head_. What did Jim think he’d be able to hide?

Why would he want to?

“You’ve been in my mind. I guess; technically, I’ve been in yours. All of those things we talked about, all the time we spent together, all that doesn’t just go away because we found out it wasn’t as real as this--” Jim leaned forward and quickly kissed Spock’s lips, not wanting to get distracted. “--We experienced it. It happened to both of us. It’s real. I loved you before he did that to us. I loved you during it.”

Jim smiled at him, unable to contain his happiness. “I love you now.”

Spock exhaled slowly with a breath that trembled.

“And just in case it comes up again, Spock. You have my permission. Fully. Completely. Wholeheartedly. In any way, shape, form that needs doing to meld with me.”

“Jim. . .”

Jim found himself lifted and pulled into Spock’s lap. Had anyone ever thought to ask him, Jim would have sworn that there was no way for two grown, adult males to fit in a chair that size.

Somehow they managed.

Spock kissed him like he was drinking him in, arms wrapped around Jim’s shoulders, then back, then his ass, holding Jim to him as though he’d never let go.

Jim pulled off his shirt, working around Spock’s hands, and throwing it somewhere in the vicinity of his closet. Spock echoed his movement, then stood, scooping Jim up and walking with him towards Jim’s bedroom.

Jim was not used to the weightlessness of being lifted as though he weighed barely nothing. He barely had time to get used to it before Spock had lowered him gently onto Jim’s bed, following him so that there was barely any space between the two of them. Jim gasped when Spock bit his chin, then scrambled a bit at undoing his jeans and kicking them off so that Spock could see him, spread out under him.

This they’d both done before and never done before, but Jim could tell no difference with what he’d remembered and what he now felt. Spock’s mouth on his thigh was just as gentle, and his fingers on Jim’s hipbones just as sturdy as his mouth wrapped around the tip of Jim’s cock. Spock sucked at him, using his tongue and stroking fingers on anything he couldn’t fit in his mouth. Jim couldn’t just lay there. He pushed up on his elbows and spread his legs so he could watch Spock’s mouth on him, wishing again for the mirror that had been in the dark little cellar.

When Spock cupped his ass and lifted him so that he could get his mouth on him more directly, Jim had to bite his lips against screaming out his need. The walls of his quarters weren’t _that_ thick, and the last thing either of them needed at this point was Security busting down the Captain’s door.

Spock didn’t ignore Jim’s balls, or the soft bit of skin under them, kissing and sucking until Jim was a shivering wreck. Spock moved his mouth to Jim’s thigh, and bit the skin there, scraping his teeth over the flesh, causing Jim to gasp out Spock’s name.

Jim’s whole body felt as though it were buzzing, but he wanted to touch Spock. He reached down and pulled Spock’s mouth up to his again and Spock seemed to know what Jim wanted, turning so that he was on his back and Jim was on top of him.

He looked down at Spock’s chest, with the slightly darker green nipples peeking out at him through Spock’s soft chest hair. Jim could see the bulge of Spock’s cock from behind Spock’s linen trousers. Jim liked the difference of his being naked, while Spock was still dressed, although anyone looking at his First wouldn’t exactly call him ‘decent’.

He felt like a starving man at a feast.

There was a large spreading wet patch on Spock’s front, and Jim met Spock’s embarrassed gaze. Jim pulled the pants down, and bit his lip when he saw Spock’s flushed cock as it lay against Spock’s stomach. The tip was shiny, and Jim could see what had made the linen so wet. The liquid was viscous; thick and slick when Jim touched it directly.

“Vulcans have self-lubricating dicks?” Jim felt and sounded like all of his birthdays and Christmases for the next 80 years had come at once. No wonder Jim had wondered if Spock had some sort of magically appearing lube. He sort of did.

Spock actually laughed out loud.

Jim caught Spock’s hand in his and kissed his fingers, watching as Spock’s eyes fluttered closed, his laughing mouth opening in an **_o_** of slack-jawed need. Jim slid down Spock’s body and slid his hand around Spock’s length, testing the thickness and heft in his hand.  Their position wouldn’t quite work for what Jim had fantasized about doing.

“Sit up a little. Yeah. Against the headboard like that.”

Spock did, and he opened his legs a little so that Jim could maneuver between them.  Jim licked his fingers. The slippery liquid definitely didn’t taste like chocolate, but it wasn’t bad. A little salty, and a little thicker than human preejaculate, but definitely something Jim wouldn’t mind having in his mouth.  Jim knew that he could go down on Spock fairly easily. Spock was thick, but not as long as Jim. It took a little bit of work, but with a few minutes, Jim was deep throating Spock’s cock like he’d imagined doing, encouraging Spock to gently thrust so that Jim couldn’t help but choke a little. But, when Jim brought the first two fingers of Spock’s left hand into his mouth besides Spock’s dick, Spock moaned his name, over and over, as quickly as he could draw breath.

Jim pulled off, sucked in a deep breath, and went back down. Spock had to pull his fingers out of Jim’s mouth to tangle them in his hair, but his hips rocked with more force, until Jim could feel Spock grow harder and thicker, ready to come.

Jim brought him right to the edge before pulling off again. He looked up to see that Spock was absolutely wrecked:  sweaty and messy with cheeks, ears and cock flushed a dark, mossy green with need.

Spock raised a shaky hand to his hair and brushed it off his forehead, chest still heaving.

“Come here."

Jim wanted to do nothing else, and kind of awkwardly twisted so that he was able to kiss Spock’s mouth.

Spock’s dick brushed against his ass, and as Jim kissed Spock, Spock prepared him.

Jim wanted it all. He wanted Spock’s mouth on him, and in him, wanted his mind entwined with his and desperately wanted to feel that fat cock of Spock’s inside of him, spreading him open as surely as Spock’s fingers were.

Jim wanted everything.

Spock lifted him again, and Jim helped by holding Spock’s dick steady as he slowly bared down so that he could take Spock inch by inch.  When Spock’s fingers slid onto Jim’s psi points just as he bottomed out inside of him, Jim found himself sucking in air as fast as he could, almost sobbing with the sensation of being so perfectly overwhelmed.

Spock’s whisper of, “My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts” rocked through Jim’s body and soul, as they started to move together. Jim’s fingers entangled with Spock’s as their other hands tightened, anchoring them.

“My _T'hy'la_. My Jim.”

Jim heard the words in his mind and in his heart as they came together, connected in every way that they could be. 

Jim wasn't used to being happy. He'd found contentment of course, and joy in his crew, and his job, and the family he'd made for himself. But now? Lying with Spock, joined together mind to mind, body to body, Jim knew he'd finally been given his chance at everything; that he'd never be alone again. 

  


**Author's Note:**

> Title from David Bowie's song of the same name. :)


End file.
